The Totality of All Questions and Answers
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Spoilers for season 5, particularly Dog Tags. Tim-centric and fairly gruesome. You have been warned. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a story that demonstrates my acceptance of the circumstances in which Tim got a dog in season 5. Thus, there are spoilers for season 5 up to and including _Dog Tags_, which happens to be my least favorite episode of season 5. **Warning:** This is a fairly gruesome story, not particularly graphic but I leave no doubt about what is happening.

The title comes from a saying by Kafka: "All knowledge, the totality of all questions and all answers is contained within the dog."

* * *

**The Totality of All Questions and All Answers  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

_1985..._

"What in the name of all that is holy are you doing, Nathan?"

"Nothing, Mom."

"Let me see. What have you done to Josie?"

"She's just a dog, Mom."

"She is _our_ dog, and we do not torture our pets, Nathan! Ever! You untie that dog and put her in the pickup. I'll take her to the vet. Sometimes...I don't know where you get this from."

"I read about it in a book, Mom. I just wanted to see if it would work."

"Cutting open our lab and seeing her insides?"

"People did it. It's called vivisection. _Doctors_ did it."

"You are not a doctor, Nathan. Nor do we live in the Middle Ages like the people in those books you keep reading. Now, do I have to tell you twice?"

"No, Mom. Can I come? I want to see her get stitched up."

"No! You have chores to do. You clean up all this blood. I see you doing this again, and I'll write your father."

"Dad won't care. All he cares about is the Navy."

_1990..._

"So...what did Dad do wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"But he was arrested."

"Don't you take that tone with me!"

"What tone?"

"Insolence."

"It's just a question, Mom. Dad got arrested, didn't he? Or are you going to lie about that, too?"

"Lie? Get out. I don't know why you keep coming home. You don't like it here. Your sister is still scared to death of you."

"Are you?"

"You're my son. I may be disappointed, but I'm not afraid."

"Maybe you should be, Mom. Dad's not going to be around now for a long time."

_1995..._

"I told you that you should be afraid, Mom."

Silence.

"Dana was smart to get out. She could see the signs even if you refused to."

Silence.

"She even changed her name. I know she told you not to let me come home anymore."

Silence.

"I wasn't coming home for you, anyway. I was coming home for Josie."

Silence.

"Josie! Josie! Come here, girl!"

A soft whimper.

"Josie! I hear you! I know you're still around."

The soft clattering of paws on the hardwood floor in the dining room.

Soft feet, barely making a sound.

A dead body, the blood already seeping into the rug.

A yelp.

Then, silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_2005..._

_San Diego, CA_

A shadow in the trees...

A woman walking alone, enjoying the sunshine.

No sounds beyond those of the surrounding city.

...and the dog beside her on the leash.

The jingling of the collar.

A snapping twig...

"Hello?"

A soft growling, hackles raised.

"Sh! It's okay, Evita. Let's just go home."

Turning...

A softly descending knife, first at the dog.

Without a sound.

A hard knock on the head...

A falling body, caught before it hit the ground.

Silence.

Soft scraping of limp feet on the path.

Silence.

Only blood pooling on the trail.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Camp Pendleton, CA_

Whining, scratching at the door.

"We'll go out, Julio! We'll go, I promise!"

More whining.

A laugh, amused, cut off by a phone call.

"Come in? Now? I just got home! Can't I have a break from work even one day a week?"

Silence. No whining.

"Fine. Fine. You'll have to explain it to Julio, though."

A beep of disconnect. Clattering in the kitchen.

"Sorry, Julio! We'll have to wait."

Silence.

"Julio?"

Blood seeping into the carpet.

"Julio!"

A scream, swiftly cut off.

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Pearl Harbor, HI_

A ball sailing through the air, into the ocean.

"Go get it! Go, Freckles!"

Barking. Eager.

"I feel so dumb calling you Freckles. I should never have let Janene name you."

Silence, only the crashing of the waves on the shore.

"Freckles! Come!"

A body floating in the surf.

"Freckles!"

The water turning red around the body.

A man smoothly pulled underwater.

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_2006..._

_Bangor, WA_

"I got fired today, ma dear. Too many days drunk on the job."

Panting, soft barks.

"Thanks, Sammy. I knew I could count on you for sympathy. You don't mind if I sleep away my sorrows, do you? You can even chew on my shoes while I'm sleeping."

Whining.

"We'll go out tomorrow. I promise."

A hiccup. A yawn.

Sleep. Snoring.

Silence.

Knife descending.

Dead.

Unknown...a camera in the hallway.

A man taken away from an old run down apartment.

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_2007..._

_Camp LeJeune, NC_

Silence.

Deep breathing in the darkness. Two.

Long days of watching for this one night.

A knife descends.

One breathing in the darkness.

No more...

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Mayport, FL_

"They're saying that it's the people with dogs."

"People with dogs? That's got to be like half the employees."

Two speaking. One target.

"Half?"

"Well, both of us have dogs."

"Speaking of which, I have to go home. Mine will probably have torn up half my house by now."

Laughter. Worry, but not much.

"Bye, Silvia. See you next week."

"See ya later, Karen."

An hour later.

A dog...blood on the floor.

A phone in hand, begging for help...

Too slow.

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Pensacola, FL_

Faster now. Night.

Sleep. Soft breathing. A whole family.

More daring, more risk.

Dog, chained outside.

A knife descending...to silence.

One unlocked door, forgotten.

Through the house, up the stairs.

The bedroom.

Two sleeping, opposite sides of the bed.

A fight earlier.

A careful shifting of the covers.

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_2008..._

_Newport, RI_

"It's too cold to go out tonight, Dragon."

The voice, tinged with anxiety.

Whining. Barking.

"No! We're not going out tonight!"

A growl.

Panic, tangible...

"I'm calling. I don't care if they think I'm crazy. I don't care how secure this apartment is."

Beeping of a phone.

Silence.

"Dragon?" Hysteria.

Running feet toward the door.

Soft padding.

Silence...but unknown...another camera...another photo.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Norfolk, VA_

"Are you sure it's a good idea to take Clover with us?"

"Honey, we live next door to a military base. We'll be fine."

"One person got taken from her own home."

"Unless you're willing to get rid of Clover, we can't think that I'm next."

"Clover is like family!"

"Exactly. We don't cave to terrorists in battle and we won't in our home. Now, are you ready to run?"

Door, opens and closes.

Running, empty streets.

Through a park.

A knife descends.

A scream.

"Run."

Another scream.

Running feet...but only two feet...not four.

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Silver Spring, MD_

Night.

An open window.

A man asleep. A dog sleeping nearby.

Perfect.

A target acquired.

Silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim yawned widely before bringing the camera up to his eye.

"Late night, Probie?"

Tim yawned again before rolling his eyes. "No. Jethro woke me up. He started barking at something at around three. Took me forever to get him to stop."

Ziva snorted. "Jethro."

Tim sighed. They went through this way too many times for it to be even moderately amusing anymore.

"Abby named him and she said it so many times that he won't answer to anything else. I don't have time to try and train him in a new name."

"I'd think you'd be worried, Probie," Tony said.

Tim snapped another photo of the body.

"Worried about what?"

"That you're going to end up like our friend here." Tony's voice lost the joking tone as he pointed at the man on the ground.

"I'm a lot more worried about what Abby would do to me if I tried to get rid of Jethro now," Tim replied. He snapped a few more photos of Agent Carter before moving over to Clover, a few feet away, on the trail itself.

Rock Creek Park. It was a popular place for dumping bodies in mystery novels. This latest death was just another one in a long line. The tenth NCIS employee to be killed in the last four years. They had all owned dogs. One agent or other employee per field office so far. The first in San Diego, the latest, Special Agent Drew Carter...and his dog Clover. The dogs were all stabbed in the throat, the human victims...

"Another vivisection?" Ducky asked, as he approached, his voice heavy.

"That's your area of expertise, Ducky," Tony said seriously, "but it looks like it. You know, if the guy hates dogs so much, why doesn't he just kill the dogs? Why their owners, too?"

"It is not the dogs," Ziva said, kneeling beside the dog. "If it were, why would he leave Agent Carter's wife alive?"

"This vivisection is different," Ducky said. "It was most likely done, as the others, perimortem, but it is not as carefully done as his previous victims. This was done in extreme haste." He gestured to the V-cut on the chest. "See here, how jagged the cuts are? I would say that it is becoming much more a symbol than anything else."

"Ready to transport, Ducky?" Gibbs asked, rejoining the team. There was no levity in his tone either. He, like everyone else in NCIS, had read about his fellow agents from all over the country being killed...along with their dogs.

"Yes, Gibbs. I would not like to remained so exposed. Although no MEs have joined the ranks of the victims thus far, that is no guarantee. This man, whoever he may be, is not following any set pattern than we have been able to ascertain, beyond his intention to kill both the NCIS employee _and_ their dog...and, of course, the dog is first. Let's get him home, please, Mr. Palmer."

"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy was inordinately nervous. He, too, had read the reports. When the trend had been identified, even though he didn't have a dog himself, he had begun to worry. He paid enough attention however to notice one thing.

"Doctor?"

"What is it, Mr. Palmer?"

"There are no organs missing this time."

"Are you sure?"

"Not positive, but...look! It's messy in there, but he didn't take out anything."

"I do believe you are correct, Mr. Palmer. Let's get him home and see what else Agent Carter has to say."

"Yes, Doctor."

As they loaded the body in the truck, Jimmy leaned over. "Is it a good idea for McGee to be out here? I mean...he has a dog...and the DC office is the only one that he hasn't visited yet."

"In the United States, Mr. Palmer. There are field offices elsewhere in the world..." he held up his hand, "but I understand your concern. Timothy, along with the other dog owners in the building, has been briefed completely and has, like most of the rest of us, refused to go into protective custody. The number of victims has been random, but in most cases, there has been a long delay when someone has actually seen him." He slid the body into the truck. "Regardless, a stand has to be made somewhere. While I wouldn't mind doing it, I will not be getting rid of Mother's corgies, nor will Timothy be getting rid of Jethro. The best thing we can do is make sure that poor Agent Carter here is his last victim."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

"Then, let us go about our task, Mr. Palmer."

They walked around to the truck and drove away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim felt like he was being watched. He looked around. Ziva was staring at him.

"You're staring again, Ziva."

"What? No, I am not."

"Yes...you _are_. I'm not going to up and disappear. None of the victims were taken while working."

"There is a first time for everything, McGee...and you are foolish to refuse to take this threat seriously."

Tim lowered the camera and stood. "I _am_ taking it seriously, Ziva. I've looked at all the statistics. I have a one in eighty chance, that's a 1.25 percent chance of being the next victim...if he picks Headquarters."

"It is the only place left."

"No, it isn't, Ziva," Tim corrected. "The CRFO aboard FLETC is in Georgia. He hasn't been there yet, either. We could be worrying for nothing."

"Nine people killed over four years, McGee. That is not nothing. He has never been caught, even though we have a fairly good idea of what he looks like."

Tim knelt down beside Clover again and took another photo. "Ziva, I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. Hey, _my_ dog tried to kill _me_, you know. I'll bet the other dog owners couldn't say that about their pets." He smiled up at her, but Ziva did not smile.

"Ziva! Are you two done yet?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, Boss," Tim answered firmly. "We're done." He stood and walked by Ziva. She grabbed his arm for a moment, but he stared at her. "We're _done_, Ziva."

"You are making a mistake, McGee."

Tim paused. "Blame Abby. She's the one who made me take the dog." Then, he smiled and got in the truck.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We're in trouble, Jethro," Ducky said a few hours later. He pulled up photos on his screen. "This is from the autopsy of the first victim, an Agent Talla Jenkins and her dog Evita."

"Evita?"

"I didn't name the dog; so don't look at _me_," Ducky said. "What I _want_ you to look at is how pristine these cuts are. When Agent Jenkins was killed, they didn't find her body for a day. Evita was killed on the path, but Agent Jenkins was taken to some other location, still alive, vivisected and then dumped elsewhere."

"Ducky?"

"What, Jethro?"

"How long would she have lived through that?"

"If our killer was good enough, and it appears that he was...until he started removing her organs...which he did and sent them in the mail to the San Diego office, since she had no family to speak of."

There was a pause, a moment of silence for the death of one of their own.

"Now, look at the cuts on Agent Carter. See how rough they are...and as Jimmy rightly pointed out, none of the internal organs were removed. Our killer has moved beyond ritual and into symbolism. The vivisection itself holds no interest for him anymore."

"It did, you think?"

"Oh, yes. I do believe, and the other offices concur, that the vivisection was the motivating factor in the beginning, for whatever reason. Now, however, he doesn't care about the vivisection. Instead, he is using it as a means to kill. That represents a change in his interest. Many serial killers do it for the thrill and for the power it gives them. There have been theories that serial killers have a need to feel an adrenaline rush they cannot get from usual activities. Thus, they kill to feel that and as they become inured to their activities, they will change...take more risks, kill more often...do more damage to their victims."

Gibbs looked from the corpse on the table to the photos of Agent Jenkins...and all the other victims. Because of the nature of the murders, no one was trying to take lead on it. Everyone, from Hawaii to Norfolk was working together to find who was killing their colleagues.

"I really wish you and McGee would accept some protection."

Ducky smiled. "Now, Agent Gibbs, that's hardly fair. There are eighty people in this building who own dogs, from Melanie in the mail room, to Timothy, to Felicity in Intel...even to Cynthia. We have all made the decision to carry on with our lives, being careful but not curtailing our activities. That is our right."

"It's you two I'm most worried about."

"I know, and I appreciate that, Jethro. I really do. However, because the threat is so diffuse, it makes little sense to quarantine everyone who has the joy of owning a dog."

"McGee's only had one for a couple of months."

"I doubt that matters one way or the other."

Gibbs looked back at the body. "So...same weapons?"

"Yes. A serated blade to the throat for the dog and a scalpel for the human." Ducky paused. "Jethro, we will be fine. I have been reliably informed that the odds are quite low of either Timothy or myself being his next victim."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Ducky."

"Nor do I, Gibbs."

Gibbs left.

"So, Agent Carter," Ducky said, "how are we going to prevent someone else from meeting the same fate as you did?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Gibbs reached the bullpen, Tony and Ziva had joined forces in trying to make Tim see "reason".

"There's no rhyme or reason to how he's picking his victims, Probie," Tony said. He pulled up the photos of the victims...it took two lines.

"Special Agent Jenkins began it, but the victim in Bangor was merely a secretary," Ziva said. "The victim in Pensacola was in forensics. And..."

"There is still the fact that the majority of the deaths were of special agents," Tony finished.

"Guys, I'm not changing my mind. I've seen all the same data as you have...more probably because I helped gather it and collate it," Tim said. "I have a dog. So does Cynthia. So does Mark and Lara and Ducky and, and, and..." He looked them both in the eye. "I'm flattered that you're so worried, but there are a lot of us who have dogs. We have no idea when this guy will strike again. We don't know if he'll even hit _here_. Why don't we just focus on _catching_ him rather than trying to force me into something that's not going to happen in any case?"

"Good idea, McGee," Gibbs said. "Where are you going to start?"

"Has Agent Carter's wife calmed down yet?" he asked hesitantly.

"No. She's still hysterical. Her psychiatrist wants us to wait until tomorrow to talk to her."

Tim nodded.

"Well," Tony said, "the photos we already have are either too grainy or he's just not in the system because Abby can't find a match, not even in the DMV."

"His weapons of choice are too widely available. He keeps them very sharp and very clean, no transfer," Ziva said. "He is well-trained, but not military."

Tim was looking at all the victims, his chin in his hand. "What if–?" he stopped.

"What if, what, Probie?" Tony asked.

Tim didn't answer. He stood up and walked to the plasma. "What if–?" he began again.

"Probie!" Tony slapped Tim's head.

"Hey!"

"Finish the sentence for heaven's sake!"

Tim turned around and looked at them all. "What if Agent Jenkins wasn't his first victim? We've been working on the assumption that he began all this with Agent Jenkins, but what if he didn't? What if he...practiced? Or what if he tried it on someone else but didn't get the thrill he wanted?"

"Okay...so why move to NCIS?"

"There must be _some_ sort of connection. We're not famous enough to get that kind of attention," Tony said.

"But until we get some sort of clue as to who this man _is_, this will remain speculation," Ziva said pointedly.

"True."

Tim spoke again. "He is very specifically targeting NCIS employees. When he had the chance, he did _not_ kill non-NCIS people. When he broke into Dr. Kavanagh's home in Pensacola, he could have killed Kavanagh's wife...who was in the bed with him. He could have killed the kids...but he didn't. He _only_ killed the dog and then took Kavanagh away, without waking anyone up. He's not interested in killing outside NCIS."

"So far," Ziva muttered.

"Yes, but that's all we have. We need to talk to Mrs. Carter."

"Not until tomorrow."

"Of course."

For the rest of the day, they all worked on sifting through the evidence they'd gathered. Abby was swamped with stuff, not only from this latest murder, but from the others as well. The forensics scientists at the other offices were working, too, but Abby's lab was the largest and she was dealing with a new crime as well as the old ones, trying to find commonalities, fielding questions from the other offices at the same time. Tim himself was working and didn't even think to go down to the lab.

He didn't even notice when Tony and Ziva threw conspiratorial looks at each other and snuck away...in the direction of Abby's lab. They were very worried about Tim, if for no other reason than because he seemed so _unworried_ about the situation. They thought that he was being too blase about the whole thing. They were wrong. Tim was also very worried. He had moved Jethro's bed from the main room to his bedroom and had, more often that he would admit, invited the big German Shepard onto his own bed to sleep. That very morning, he had discovered that he'd left a window open and had then spent the next few minutes searching his own apartment to make sure that no one was in there. Tim was worried, but because of how worried everyone else was, he didn't want to compound the problem.

He hadn't reckoned on Abby. She would compound any problem...all by herself.

"Tim! We need to talk!" she announced near the end of the day.

"Abby, I'm a little busy right now. Can it wait?"

"No, Tim!" Abby stomped her foot and Tim sighed and looked up.

"What, Abbs?"

"Why aren't you getting someone to watch you?"

"Because it would be a waste of time," Tim said, trying to be so calm that Abby just dropped it...not that it would work. He knew that.

"Tim! You have a dog!"

"Yes, I do," Tim answered. "Jethro is a very nice dog when he's not high on drugs. He hasn't attacked me more than once, and he's _my_ dog. That's not going to change tomorrow or next week or next month. Abby, I will not give up my life to this nebulous chance that I'm going to be attacked next."

"What if you _are_?"

"Jethro will–"

"Will what, Tim? The other dogs weren't all chihuahuas...and they still died! One of them was a _wolfhound_! Still, the dog died...and so did his owner! Tim, I don't want you to die!"

Tim laughed. "Well, that's good because I don't either. Abby, we're _all_ taking precautions."

"I could..."

"No! You are not going to take Jethro and pretend he's yours. He's not. You gave him to me and that's final. I'm careful about where I go and I lock my doors and windows at night."

"All of them?"

Tim didn't think he needed to bring up his lapse the night before. "Yes, all of them."

"Tim..."

"Abby, no. I'm not changing my mind, not for Tony or Ziva or Gibbs...not even for you. I will be careful. I will not take risks, but I can't live my life thinking that I'm going to be killed at any moment. Okay?"

"It's not okay," Abby said, pouting a little, "but okay."

Tim stood up, smiling, and hugged her. "Abby, it will be all right. Don't worry so much. I'm not going to run through the streets pointing myself out as the next victim. I'm being careful."

"Okay, Tim," Abby said, but she didn't sound happy about it.

Tim sat down to finish up his work for the day. An hour later, Gibbs gave him a look, but he didn't say anything. Tim packed up and left with Tony and Ziva.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The keys jangled in the lock and Tim stepped inside.

"Jethro!"

There was a thumping sound indicating the approach of his dog and Tim braced himself for impact. Sure, enough, Jethro came bounding to the door, jumped on Tim and nearly knocked him over.

"Down! Down!" Tim shouted, laughing. "You would think that I didn't pay an exorbitant amount of money every month for a dog walker!" He looked at his watch and then out the window. It was too late to go for a walk himself. "We'll have to wait for tomorrow, Jethro. I said I wouldn't take risks. That means you, too. I wouldn't want you to bite the dust either." Jethro calmed down and paced around Tim as he walked into the kitchen. Tim felt a momentary chill and turned around. "You hear anything, Jethro?" The dog was unconcerned; so Tim shrugged and turned back to his cupboards. "What shall we have for dinner?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Night.

A personal view of man and dog together.

A smile, a pat on the head.

Another smile, this one not so kind.

Waiting and watching.

In silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The rest of the week passed in relative calm. Tim was still careful, as was Ducky and Cynthia and all the other dog owners. However, when another full week passed with nothing, some people began to relax their guard. Even Tony, Ziva and Abby stopped hounding Tim to be more careful...there was no need, really. Tim actually was getting more jumpy, not less. Sometimes when he was out either before or after work, or on the weekend, he felt as though someone was watching him. He chalked it up to nerves and didn't mention the feeling to anyone else. Still, he felt strange, even in his apartment. He woke up in the middle of the night without the aid of Jethro's cold nose or his barking. He had the dog on his bed every night now and forgot about worrying about dog hairs on his comforter. He told Sarah, in no uncertain terms, that she was not going to be spending the night at his place until the guy was caught. Even though he hadn't killed anyone besides NCIS personnel as yet, that was no guarantee that he wouldn't start.

Still, they had no break in the case beyond a better description from Mrs. Carter once she could talk about it. They also had a very good timeline for that murder. They put out a BOLO and sent descriptions and reconstructions around to all the local police departments, as well as to FLETC in Georgia...and the other field offices, just in case. The tips started pouring in...without a single solid lead.

Until a Friday afternoon...

"Hey, where's everyone?"

Tim looked up from his computer toward the voice. "Huh?"

"McGee, why are you the only one here?"

"The others are tracking down a couple of promising leads. I've been grounded." He smiled. "What can I do for you, Richards?"

"I got a lady who says she knows who the killer is...the name. She wants to talk to the lead agent, but since Gibbs isn't here, you're at least on the lead team."

Tim smiled. "A kook?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know. It's _your_ job to find that kind of thing out."

"Okay, patch her through. I'll talk to her."

"Sure thing, McGee."

The phone rang a minute later.

"Hello, Agent McGee speaking."

"_You're investigating the NCIS murders?"_ The voice was timid and frightened.

"Yes, I'm the lead team. We're investigating the most recent killing. You said that you had information about the killer."

"_Yes. I know who he is. It's been a few years, but when I saw the picture this morning...it was like remembering a nightmare."_

"Who is he?"

"_He's my brother."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, that was a waste of time," Tony said darkly.

"Yes, Gibbs, why is it that so many people can try to be so helpful and yet only serve to distract us from what is important?"

Gibbs shrugged and opened the door of the sedan. Another tip called in, another possible sighting...and another bust. Not even a male this time. A female with short hair. Gibbs got in and decided to call in to see if there were any other tips they could check out in this area before heading back to NCIS.

"Hey, Richards, you're manning the phones today?"

"_Yeah, Gibbs. It's been exciting let me tell you. By the way, have you talked to McGee yet?"_

"About what?"

"_He's talking to a lady who says she knows who our killer is."_

"Really. Any good?"

"_Don't know, but I went over a minute ago and McGee was still on the phone...looking very interested. I'm sure he'll call you when he's done. It might be genuine."_

"Thanks, Richards. Any tips in our area?"

"_Uh...you guys are in Anacostia, right? Hmmm...nope, none over there. The tip line is slowing down, thank goodness."_

"Thanks. We'll head in then." Gibbs hung up.

"Back to NCIS, Boss?"

"Yeah. McGee may have something."

"Great! Anything is better than this."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He's your brother?"

"_Yes, he killed my mother thirteen years ago."_

"What's his name then?"

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. _"This doesn't have to revealed as coming from his sister, right? I've managed to hide myself, and I don't want to have to be anywhere near him."_

"You're scared of your brother?"

"_Ever since he locked me in his closet and told me how he could operate on me while I was still awake. He told me which organs he could take out without killing me and how long I'd live. My brother is a psycho. My mom wouldn't listen to me when I told her that...and she died because of it."_

"Okay, ma'am. We won't release the source of the information. I give you my word."

"_Thank you. His name is Nathan. Nathan Erikson. My mother's name was Doreen Erikson. My father...he's in prison for embezzling from the Navy. He'll actually be getting out in a couple of years, but I doubt he'll have much of a welcoming committee. Mom's dead. Nathan is crazy...and I want only to forget my family."_

"What's your name?"

"_My name _was_ Dana Erikson. I changed it once I left home. Nathan tried to pass off what he said as a joke, but I knew it wasn't. I knew he meant it and was just waiting for the right time. He starting cutting open our dog, Josie, when he was fifteen. Mom caught him before he got too far...but when he killed Mom, he killed Josie, too."_

"How do you know it was him?"

"_Because I know. That's how Nathan was. He told Mom once that she should be afraid of him. Mom told me about it. It was the first time she had actually seemed to realize her son was a lunatic."_

"Thank you...ma'am. We'll have to verify all this, but thank you for calling, for having the courage to call."

"_Just catch him...kill him if you have to. He's not someone who can be reasoned with. He reminds me of Hannibal Lector, only without the cannibalism. He's crazy, Agent McGee. He always has been. If he were an animal, I'd say that he needed to be put down."_

Tim nodded to himself. "Thank you."

"_And no one will know that it was me who called, right?"_

"That's right. No one will know. You will remain an anonymous tipster."

"_Thank you. Good-bye."_

Tim hung up and sat back, thinking about what had just been said. The conversation had been recorded and he had taken notes...but he didn't really need either jog to his memory. If it was true, then, he was right and Agent Jenkins hadn't been the first...but if so, why so long between attacks? Why NCIS? Why now? So many unanswered questions.

Then, Tim remembered that there was someone else he should probably be calling. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Boss?"

"_What, McGee?"_

"We got a tip from a woman claiming..."

"_...to know who our killer is."_

"Yeah...how did you know?"

"_I called Richards. What did you find?"_

"I'm checking on the names she gave right now. Boss, she says that he's her sister and that he killed their mother thirteen years ago."

"_Is she telling the truth?"_

"I think she is, but I'm verifying right now. She sounded terrified, Boss. She said that she'd changed her name just to get away from him."

"_Name?"_

"Nathan Erikson." Tim tapped in a request. "Okay, he has no known address, last driver's license from when he was eighteen years old. Dropped out of college. He's off the grid, Boss."

"_What about his mother?"_

"Right, Doreen Erikson..." Tim pushed a few more keys and then heard the elevator ding...in his ear. "Boss? Where are you?"

"Right in front of you, McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim jumped and looked up, his phone at his ear. "Boss!"

"Yeah, McGee. What do you have?"

Tim swallowed. He was way too jumpy right now.

"Uh..."

"Spit it out, Probie," Tony urged, grinning at Tim's surprise.

"Right...Doreen Erikson, found in her home...cut open."

"Vivisection?"

"Don't know. No mention of it in the papers that covered it. She was killed in '95, along with her chocolate lab, Josie. The dog was..."

"...stabbed in the throat?" Ziva asked.

"Exactly," Tim said soberly. "Nathan Erikson, the son, was named as a 'person of interest' in the case, but he was never found. No fingerprints, no witnesses. No one from the family came to her funeral. One daughter, Dana, could not be found. Husband, William Erikson, is doing time in Leavenworth for embezzling funds from the Navy."

"How much?"

Tim accessed the file. "Five million dollars."

Tony whistled. "Wow."

"Yeah, he was convicted and sentenced in 1991 and he has two years left on his sentence."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Is there a picture?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah." Tim put it up on the screen. It was from when Erikson was eighteen, but still, there was a definite resemblance between the reconstruction as well as the two security tapes. "Looks like him, doesn't it."

"Definitely. Still, we'll double check. Send it down to Abby to compare the facial structure."

"On it, Boss." Tim stood up to go down.

"When you finish that, if it still looks like him, do that aging thing."

Tim smiled. "Yes, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I'd bet my next paycheck that this is the same guy," Abby said. The software was comparing points on the three faces. "It's got to be. Killing his mother? Sicko."

"I think it's the same guy, too. This is such a great breakthrough, Abbs. If we have a reasonable reconstruction of his face, then we stand that much more of a chance of finding him."

"Yeah." The computer beeped its affirmative. "It's him. Let's age him."

"Okay." That didn't take very long.

"He's...so normal-looking."

"Yeah," Tim agreed quietly.

"It's weird to think that this guy could be the one who has been killing people for the last four years."

Tim stared at the image. It made him distinctly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure. Something about him, though." He shrugged. "Maybe it's because I can't fathom being able to do that myself."

Abby looked at the man on the screen. Nathan Erikson had a round open-looking face. His nose was a little bit large in proportion to the rest of his face. He had dark brown eyes and blonde hair, a wide mouth. He didn't look like a creepy serial killer. He looked like a guy you could see on the street every day..._except when he's trying to kill you, of course,_ she added to herself.

"Tim, I expect you to run if you see this guy on the street."

Tim was still staring at the image. "No worries, Abby. He gives me the creeps." Tim shuddered and turned away. "I guess I'll get this sent out in the BOLO."

The BOLO went out, but no one reported a sighting for the rest of that day. Tim requested and got the case file for Doreen Erikson's murder. It turned out that the detective in charge of the case when it had been active, had died just the year before...nothing suspicious about his death...and he didn't have a dog, but it made it more difficult because that meant all they had were his notes, not his own ruminations.

Still, it was better than nothing and they analyzed the evidence, comparing it to the NCIS cases. They found that in spite of reports from teachers in school, the fear of his younger sister, and disturbing behavior from the time he was eight years old, Doreen Erikson had never taken her son for counseling. No reason was given, only that she had refused to do it...and had apparently paid the ultimate price for that refusal.

By the end of the day, it seemed obvious to everyone that they had their killer...now they just needed to find him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, Jethro," Tim said that evening, "tomorrow is shopping day. We'll go in the morning before the rush. You ready to try that new dog food?" Tim pulled out a coupon and waved it over his head. "I'm willing to give it a try, but if you don't like it, no tearing the bag to pieces this time, okay? You could have just not eaten it last time."

Jethro jumped around and barked, wagging his tail madly. Then, as Tim began to get dinner ready, he stopped barking and turned toward the window, growling softly.

"What is it?" Tim asked.

The growling grew louder and Jethro padded over to the window, still growling, but not barking. Tim followed him to the window, looking out into the night.

"What do you hear, Jethro?"

The growling continued, but it didn't get any more urgent and Tim couldn't see anything or anyone deserving Jethro's dislike. He put a tentative hand on Jethro's head. Even though he'd had Jethro for a couple of months without any problems, Tim still remembered how much Jethro's teeth had hurt and he was not anxious to have a repeat performance. Still, at the touch of his hand, Jethro stopped growling and whined.

Tim knelt beside him. "You hear something outside?"

More whining and then Jethro turned his head and licked Tim's face.

"Blech! Jethro! Not when I'm not ready for it," Tim said, the tense mood broken by the unexpected display of affection. He laughed. "Let's have dinner."

Jethro wouldn't move from the window. Tim looked at it. It was open.

"Okay, I'll close the window, first." He did so. "Happy?"

Apparently, he was because Jethro stalked back to the kitchen and sat expectantly beside his dish. Tim smiled.

"Yes, sir. I know when I'm receiving orders. Dinner time!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Close. Too close.

Pulling back into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

A closed window. A missed opportunity.

Silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tim looked at the knife on his table. It was morning. There were people around. It wasn't like he was going to be in a forest or something...but still. Agent Carter hadn't either. He'd been running...with his wife. Rule number nine...and besides...he looked at Jethro. He did have a dog. He picked up the knife, turned it over in his hands and then slipped it into a sheath on his leg.

"Okay, Jethro! Let's go! You ready?"

Jethro jumped around so eagerly that Tim had a hard time putting him on his leash.

"Calm down! You'd think I'd never taken you anywhere."

Finally, the dog settled and Tim was able to grab his jacket.

"Let's go! The wide world awaits!"

They ran out of the building and Tim was hard-pressed to keep Jethro moving at a slower pace.

"Come on, Jethro! I only have two legs! Slow down!"

Jethro did slow down, a little bit. Tim was forced to jog along behind him and they made record time to the grocery store. Outside, Jethro showed his first sign of disobedience. He kept trying to go into the store with Tim.

"Jethro, no! You can't come in."

Jethro whined and strained on the leash, trying to keep Tim from tying him to the post. If Tim had been any weaker, he wouldn't have been able to hold onto Jethro at all.

"Stay! Sit!" Tim commanded. He didn't have to resort to actual orders very often. Jethro was normally very well-behaved...not this time. This time, Tim had to repeat the commands three times before Jethro responded. "Man, what's gotten into you?" he asked as he secured the leash around the post. "Stay! I'll be out in a few minutes."

Jethro sat on his haunches for a moment, but then went back on four legs and strained at the leash, whining.

"No, Jethro!" Tim walked into the store, but Jethro's whines followed him inside. He shook his head, promising himself that he'd be fast so that Jethro wouldn't be stuck outside alone. He smiled at the grocer, who knew him by sight.

"What's wrong with your dog?" he asked.

Tim shrugged. "He misses me, I guess."

"Ah. How sweet," he drawled.

"Yeah, real sweet," Tim answered, rolling his eyes.

"His name is Jethro?"

"I didn't pick the name. I didn't even pick the dog if you get right down to it," Tim said. The grocer raised his eyebrows questioningly. "It's a long story."

"As long as he doesn't get in here."

"He won't. I promise."

"Okay."

Tim smiled and walked along the shelves. He didn't need much, just a few produce items, Jethro's dog food and milk. He liked keeping these shopping days light so that if Jethro really got excited, he didn't have to worry about keeping his arms in their sockets.

There weren't many other patrons in the store, as Tim had hoped. He looked casually at them as he passed, smiling when they made eye contact...until... Tim stopped. There he was. The man they had all been looking for. Nathan Erikson was looking at a magazine near the door. He was in Tim's corner grocery store. What was he doing here?

_What do I do?_ Tim wondered and then he decided to just mark him and call it in. He couldn't put all the other people in danger. Instead, he walked to the back of the store where he could look and keep the man in sight, but could be unseen if he needed to be.

He pulled out his phone and dialed quickly. The phone rang and rang...and then went to voice mail. Tim tried again.

"Come on, come on," he whispered. He peeked around the corner. Erikson was still there. Voice mail again. One more try and then he'd call...someone else.

"_What is it?"_ Gibbs asked flatly.

Tim didn't take the time to worry about that. "We have a problem, Boss," Tim whispered into his phone. He looked around the corner. The man was gone. "Make that a _huge_ problem."

"What, McGee?"

Then, Tim felt a cold metal circle against the back of his head. He stiffened.

"I'm in big trouble..."

"How right you are, Agent McGee," Erikson said.

Tim let the man take the cell phone from his limp grasp.

He lifted it to his ear and spoke in a pleasant tone. "Agent Gibbs, that's the last time you'll get to talk to your agent. I'm going to have my fun with him and I'll be sure to mail you the pieces. I'm taking my time with this one. Speed doesn't work." He disconnected, turned the phone off and set it on a shelf.

"Hey, Erikson. What's going on? Run out of milk?"

Rather than shooting him or punching him, Erikson suddenly jabbed Tim just below his ear. Immediately, Tim's body arched upward in reaction to the sudden pain.

"Quiet, Agent McGee. We're going to walk out of the store together. If you try to attract attention, I'll kill everyone in this store. I have enough bullets...and believe me, I won't miss. Got it?"

Tim nodded quickly. "I understand."

"Good. Let's go. Your dog is still out there."

Tim swallowed as he remembered that the dog was always killed first.

_Abby will kill me if I let him kill Jethro,_ Tim thought, trying to deny that he cared about Jethro just as much. He wouldn't let Jethro die if he could help it...could he help it? Then, Tim remembered his knife. If he revealed it now, he wouldn't be able to make use of it later, but he couldn't let Jethro be killed to save himself.

Slowly, he took a step toward the front of the store. Then, another step. The man was back a few feet, but Tim knew he still had the gun...and more than likely a knife as well. No more than Jethro would Tim allow the other patrons to be hurt just to save himself. He took a deep breath.

"Not buying anything?" the grocer asked.

Tim smiled as much as he could. "I forgot my wallet. I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on."

The grocer laughed as another patron came to the counter to check out. "Well, don't forget your dog. He's started growling."

"I won't." Tim stepped out of the store, just a second or two ahead of Erikson. He looked up and down the sidewalk. For a wonder, there was no one close by. Saturday morning, people still sleeping off their hangovers. The clouds probably helped as well, keeping people from wanting to venture out too early. Jethro was still pulling on his leash and his growling took on a more menacing air.

"Get your dog to shut up," Erikson hissed.

"I can't. When he's growling, no one stops him."

"No one?" Erikson asked. "I doubt that."

Tim sensed, rather than saw him move toward Jethro. He could see, in his mind's eye, the other dead dogs from the first nine murders. He had no doubts about what lay in Jethro's immediate future. He didn't take the time to think. Instead, he flung himself toward Jethro, lifting his leg and pulling out the knife he'd hidden there. There wasn't time to undo the leash. Instead, he cut through it, but he didn't command Jethro to attack.

"Jethro! Find Abby! Find Abby!" He made the command as firm as he could, overriding Jethro's instinct to attack. An attack would mean he was dead. Running would save him...and maybe save Tim as well. "Find Abby!"

Jethro whined once, barked twice at Erikson.

"Go! You stupid dog!"

One more whine and Jethro turned tail and ran down the sidewalk. The gun was in his ribs in an instant.

"Foolish. Very foolish. Run, Agent McGee. Run to the end of the block and turn left. You do anything else and I'll shoot you right here."

The gun jabbed his ribs painfully.

"Go."

Tim began to run. He turned the corner as directed, hearing the grocer shouting from behind him. He heard a gunshot but didn't dare look back to see if the man had been killed. Erikson must have been in very good shape because Tim was barely around the corner before Erikson was right behind him.

"Get in the trunk," he said, pointing to a Buick. The trunk opened. "Get in."

Feeling there was not much choice in the matter, Tim did as he was bid. He walked over to the Buick, stilling breathing heavily. He stood for a moment in front of the open trunk, knowing that if he got in, he'd be essentially signing his own death warrant.

"Get in."

Tim began to turn around, but instead of shooting him, Erikson had put away the gun. Tim didn't have time to think about this strange course of events because Erikson punched him at the base of his neck, one knuckle hitting him squarely in his gag reflex. Tim's body arched backward and his head struck the trunk lid...hard. Tim folded like a stack of cards and collapsed into the trunk, unable to move.

"Enjoy the ride, Agent McGee."

The lid closed.

Tim blacked out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

All was chaos around the little grocery store when Gibbs, Tony and Ziva arrived. Police cars, an ambulance, people talking in unnecessarily loud voices...and no Tim. That was to be expected, but they all hated to realize his absence...and what that meant.

Gibbs took a deep breath and looked around. "Okay, Tony...inside. Ziva, outside. I'll talk to the grocer."

"Right...Boss?" Tony asked.

"Just look, Tony," Gibbs said.

"Right, Boss."

As the two walked to their respective places, Gibbs walked to the ambulance.

"How is he?" he asked the EMT.

"Fine. It was just a graze. He'll be all right."

"I'm all right now," the grocer said in annoyance. "Barely nicked me and I have people screaming all around. I didn't even get a chance to see which way the son of a..." he stopped, looking at the female paramedic. "...the guy went."

"Well, what _did_ you see?"

The grocer looked at Gibbs. "I already told this to the police."

"I'm NCIS...like Agent McGee."

"He the guy who got snatched?"

"Yeah."

The grocer nodded. "Okay, so I'm in my store, helping customers. There were only about ten people in the store, early morning, slow day. This...McGee, you said his name is?"

"Timothy McGee."

"Right. Agent McGee, he comes to my store quite a bit, lately with that big dog of his. The dog stays outside, never any problems...except today. Today, the dog kept trying to come in. I was by the door to stop him if he got away from Agent McGee. I didn't pay attention to everyone who came in, but I would recognize all of them if I saw them again. I keep out the shoplifters that way."

Gibbs nodded. The man had a very roundabout way of getting to the point, but he seemed sharp enough to notice details so Gibbs allowed him to maunder.

"Agent McGee came in and started shopping. We didn't know each other's names, but we chat a bit. He went to the back of the store and then a minute or two later, he comes back to the front, leaving, saying that he forgot his wallet. There was this other guy who left just after he did. I didn't think anything of it, like I said, but then, two seconds later, I hear Agent McGee screaming at his dog to find Abby, whoever that is. He yells it a few times and then calls his dog stupid. The dog was growling and barking and whining and stuff, but I guess the dog ran. I came out to see what was going on, but when I did, Agent McGee was running down the sidewalk...south...and before I could see what was going to happen next, the guy who'd followed Agent McGee out of the store turns around with a gun in his hand. I didn't stop to think. I just dove for the ground, but my reflexes are a bit rusty. He hit me and I didn't get a chance to see where he and Agent McGee went from there."

Gibbs nodded, jotting down the important stuff. Then, he looked up. "Mr. Bauer, did you get a good look at the man who followed Agent McGee?"

"A good look? I could paint a picture of him...if I could paint."

Gibbs laughed a little in spite of himself. "Is this him?" He held up the reconstruction.

"Yep. That's him, all right. Hey! That's the guy they've been talking about on the TV every day."

"Yes, it is."

"So...your Agent McGee is his next victim?"

"It would appear so," Gibbs said, being as calm as he could.

"Well, his dog got away. Maybe he won't do anything until he kills the dog. I mean, he has to do that, right?"

"Thank you, Mr. Bauer. If you think of anything else important, please give me a call."

"Yes, sir. I can do that. I hope you find him. Agent McGee is a good customer."

"We'll do our best." Gibbs walked away from the ambulance.

"Gibbs!" Ziva called. "Come and look at this!"

Gibbs walked over to the pole and crouched down beside Ziva as she photographed the remains of a leash.

"It was cut. This looks like McGee's leash, the one he uses for Jethro...his dog...not..."

"I know what you mean, Ziva," Gibbs said. "It's definitely cut..." He looked around. "That knife...there." He walked over and picked it up. "This is McGee's."

"He use it or drop it?" Ziva asked.

"Match it up with the leash and see. Bag them both. We'll get them to Abby." Remembering what Mr. Bauer had said, Gibbs stood up and called Abby's number. It had been about an hour since Tim's disappearance. Jethro could have run to Abby's place...if he knew where it was.

"Abby?"

"_Hey, Gibbs. What's up?"_

Abby's blase tone told Gibbs right away that Jethro wasn't there.

"Did you talk to McGee this morning?"

"_Why would I talk to McGee this morning? It's barely past nine, Gibbs."_ There was a heavy pause. _"Why are you asking me that?"_

"Abby..."

"_No, Gibbs. Don't say it. Don't."_

"Jethro isn't there, is he?"

"_No. Should he be?"_ Abby's voice was determinedly calm, but that wouldn't last.

"Maybe. He might be heading to your place. Does he know where it is?"

"_Yeah, he does, but that's a long run for him._"

"Okay, we'll see if we can find him."

"_Gibbs..."_

"Erikson got him, Abby."

"_No! No, that's not possible. No!"_

"Abby, I need you to go into work. We're going to have evidence you need to process."

Abby was sobbing. _"Gibbs! Where is he? Why? Why Tim? Why not someone else?"_

"I don't know, Abbs. We need your help."

"_What about Jethro?"_

"If you see him, take him with you to NCIS. If not, we'll have people looking for him."

"_Gibbs..."_

"Just go to work, Abby."

A loud sniff. _"Okay, Gibbs. I'll be waiting."_

"Good." Gibbs disconnected.

"Boss!" Tony called.

With a sigh, Gibbs headed over to see what Tony had found.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a thump and Tim woke, trying to sit up. He only succeeded in hitting his head on the lid of the trunk...again. He fell back to the bed of the trunk...not happy...about anything. He looked around. The trunk was dark, very dark. He could barely see anything. How long had he been out? Where were they? Would he gain anything by trying to find out? Had Jethro gotten safely away? Tim felt his body start to tense up as he recalled what was in store for him. He had studied all the cases in great detail, even when the photos had made him ill. He had wanted to know exactly what had happened, in the hopes that he'd find the one little thing that would tell them who, what, where, why, how...all the questions they couldn't answer. Yes, Tim knew what was coming. The trunk was hot, airless. Tim began to feel queasy. He swallowed...and swallowed again...and again. His stomach was protesting, but Tim _really_ didn't want to throw up in the trunk.

"Okay, calm down," he whispered. "Don't panic. No reason to panic." Then, he swallowed back more than bile. He swallowed back tears. He was terrified. "You're only about to be cut open." That did it. Tim began to pound on the lid of the trunk, hoping to break it open, hoping to get away. He knew too much, could see too clearly what was coming.

"Let me out!" he screamed, not caring if Erikson heard him. The car shuddered to a stop. The door opened. Tim stiffened. Then, there was a thump on the lid and a cruel laugh. Footsteps sounded back to the driver's side and the car resumed its forward motion. Tim held back his tears but he was panting with the effort and there was so little air as it was. He was afraid, deathly afraid...and he felt so alone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What did you find, DiNozzo?"

"McGee's phone. It was on a shelf at the back of the store. Boss, are we too late already?"

Gibbs stared at the phone laying in his hand in the evidence bag. The time frame for Agent Carter's death had contained little delay. From the time Erikson had confronted the Carters on the path to Clover's death to Agent Carter's murder had been in the neighborhood of ten minutes...but he hadn't taken Agent Carter anywhere either. He _had_ taken Agent Jenkins...and other victims as well.

"No, Tony."

"How can you be sure?"

"He told me that he was going to...take his time."

Tony gulped nervously. "That doesn't make me feel any better, Boss."

"Nor me. Anything else?"

"I got the security tape. I'll look it over back at NCIS. I guess...I guess Ducky won't have to worry now."

"Yeah," Gibbs said absently. "Yeah."

"Agent Gibbs!" An officer ran into the store.

"What is it?"

"You were looking for a German Shepherd? One with a trailing leash?"

"Yeah. You found it?"

"Well, another unit found _a_ German Shepherd, tangled up in a bush in a city park. It's not very friendly at the moment."

"Okay. I'll go over." Gibbs took a breath. "Tony, you and Ziva go back and see what you and Abby can get out of the evidence. I'll see if that's Jethro over there and if it is, I'll bring him back. He's as much a target as McGee is."

"He's the reason McGee _is_ a target."

"Don't start that, DiNozzo. That won't help."

Tony clenched his teeth for a moment and then he sighed. "I know, Boss...but..." He stopped, looking for the words. "...it's not like we don't know what's going to happen to McGee!" he burst out. "It's no big secret. We have photos! We _know_!"

"That's why you guys are going to find out where he is before that happens. Got it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Boss. I got it." Tony walked out of the store, stiff as a board.

"I'm really sorry, Agent Gibbs," the officer said.

"Me, too." Gibbs followed him out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The dog tangled up in the bush was indeed Jethro...and he wasn't happy. He growled and snarled at the various officers trying to get him out.

"I got him," Gibbs said with a smile. He approached the angry dog speaking softly. "Jethro, sit."

Jethro growled for a moment and then whined, pulling ineffectually at the leash, trying to heed his master's command.

"I'll get you out, and we'll go to Abby."

Jethro sat up and started barking.

"Good boy!" Gibbs reached over and got the leash out of the bush...and nearly lost an arm as Jethro tried to bolt.

"Whoa! Stay!"

Jethro pulled for a moment longer and than stopped, but he whined more.

"We're going to Abby. I promise. Let's go...slowly." Gibbs led Jethro to his car and let him into the back seat. Jethro paced back and forth across the seat, searching for something...that he didn't find. By the time Gibbs got in and started the car, Jethro had sunk disconsolately down onto the seat and was whimpering.

"We're going to find him, Jethro. I promise."

Jethro just whined.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was curled in a tight ball, feeling each bump of the dirt road. He was bruised and nauseous and in pain...and terrified.

_Why didn't I listen to Jethro? He knew something was going on...so did I. I was so determined to not let this ruin my life...that it ruined my life. I'm such an idiot! Well, at least he got away._ Tears finally dripped from Tim's eyes...because, while he knew that Gibbs and Tony and Ziva would do everything they could to find him, he was afraid that they wouldn't be able to do enough.

He was afraid it was already too late.

Then, the car turned sharply, throwing him to one side. He winced as his head hit the car, but that pain didn't hold his attention for very long...because the car came to a stop...and the engine died.

Slow footsteps, not rushed, not worried, approached the trunk. The lid came up, blinding Tim with the light shining in his eyes.

"Here we are, Agent McGee. Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It was a barn...an old barn. There was nothing else around...nothing except for fields and forests. Tim knew there was no one. Even though he didn't see anything, he knew there was no one there. No one to hear him. No one except his eventual killer.

"This way, Agent McGee."

Tim walked ahead. He didn't see that he had much choice.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jethro didn't want to get out of the car when Gibbs got to NCIS. He sat in the back, looking expectantly at his namesake.

Gibbs stared back, knowing what the dog wanted, and wishing that he could give it...

"Jethro, get out of the car."

No movement. Just a whine.

Gibbs felt an unexpected lurch and he had to swallow before repeating, "Jethro, get out of the car."

Another whine.

"I...I don't know where he is, Jethro. I can't find him...if you stay in the car."

Another whine and a bark.

"Please, Jethro. Help us find him."

Whether or not the dog understood, Gibbs didn't know, but Jethro whined once more and then got out of the car and followed Gibbs inside.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a table set up in the middle of the barn. The interior had been cleared out and all that was there was the table...and a smaller table with a set of scalpels on it. Tim took a breath. He wanted to run, but he knew it was futile. Maybe he should fight the futility, but as he stared at the table, the restraints, the knives, Tim couldn't move.

"This is your final resting place, Agent McGee."

Erikson seemed so calm. He could have been introducing Tim to his new apartment, not his death bed.

"Should...should I be impressed?" Tim asked, knowing that his voice was shaking.

"I took a lot of time preparing this for you, to your exact measurements...or as exact as I could get them. You _should_ be impressed. It won't be comfortable, but that's not really the point now is it."

Tim's legs had lost all feeling in them. The only reason he was still upright was because it would take too much effort to unlock his knees.

"You know what's coming, don't you, Agent McGee?"

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He was reduced to nodding. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the table.

"Good. That's what makes it work."

"Work?"

There was no response from the man behind him, but Tim somehow could feel him getting excited. Up to that point, he had felt nothing, heard nothing in his voice. Erikson had seemed cold and disinterested...not anymore.

"Get on the table, Agent McGee."

Tim still couldn't move. He was working on breathing...and that was giving him trouble.

"Get on the table."

He couldn't do it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Jethro!" Abby ran across the lab and grabbed the German Shepherd in a tight hug. "Oh, Jethro! You're okay!"

"He's fine, Abby," Gibbs said. "What about the tests?"

"What?"

"Abby!"

Abby looked up from the floor and Gibbs saw her tear-streaked face. "The knife matches the cuts on the leash. Tim must have...must have cut him free." Her face crumpled. "He only has Jethro because I made him! He wouldn't even _have_ a dog if I hadn't..."

Gibbs knelt down and hugged her. Abby was still hugging Jethro.

"It's my fault," Abby sobbed. "It's all my fault!"

She was crying so loudly that she didn't even hear the door open.

"Abby, that is not true," Ziva said.

"It _is_ true, Ziva! Tim didn't even _want_ him! I _forced_ him! I _guilted_ him into it...because I _knew_ he wouldn't say no. I knew I could make him do it!" Abby hugged Jethro more tightly...he whined and tried to pull away. "It's like _I_ killed Tim!"

"No, Abby!" Ziva said sternly. "Tim was already looking at getting a dog. You just gave him _this_ dog. He would have had one in any case. He had shown me _pictures_. It is not your fault!"

Jethro whined and licked Abby's face, licked away the tears.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Get on the table, Agent McGee. I insist that you do it yourself."

"What if I don't?"

"Well, that's an interesting question. Are you really interested in finding out?"

Tim started hyperventilating. He'd been holding it off as long as he could, but now, his breath came in and out in quick gasps. His knees finally unlocked and he collapsed to the floor of the barn. To his surprise, Erikson did nothing. He simply stood and stared at him for a couple of minutes.

"Are you finished?"

Tim closed his eyes and tried to wish it all away...but it didn't go away. This wasn't a nightmare. This was life...the end of _his_ life.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Good. Get on the table."

Tim got to his knees and then to his feet. One slow, stuttering step at a time, he walked to the table, sat on the edge and then lay down, staring up at the ceiling of the barn. He barely flinched when Erikson came and fastened the restraints: one across each limb, one across his forehead and one more across his torso. Tim let out a long breath as he stared at the wooden beams, crisscrossing the ceiling above his head.

"I'll leave you here to think about it for a few minutes, Agent McGee. There are some things I need to do. Screaming is perfectly legal. Enjoy it while you can." Erikson walked away, out of the barn, closing the door behind him. Tim just stared at the beams. They were old, rotted. This was not a barn that had been in use recently. This barn was...as old as the beams on the ceiling. No one would unexpectedly show up to check on the hay. No one would come with a sudden urge to muck out the stalls. No one would come. _Tim_ didn't know where he was. The only one who knew was Erikson...and Erikson was getting ready to kill him. Tim swallowed and saw the beams blur.

_This is worse than dying alone,_ he thought.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Abby, Abby. You need to stop. You know that you're wrong. We can't find Tim by placing blame on anyone else other than Erikson," Gibbs said, still rocking Abby back and forth as she sobbed. She had finally let go of Jethro, but one hand dangled from his collar. For the moment, he showed no interest in getting away. After all, Abby had saved him.

"Tim's going to die! Tim's going to die!" Abby wept.

The doors to the lab opened once more and Tony came in.

"Boss! I just had this..." he stopped. "Hey, Abby...what's wrong?"

"What is it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"Traffic cameras, Boss!" Tony announced. Everyone stared...even Abby. "I was watching the security tapes from the store when I suddenly remembered that there are traffic cameras at that intersection..._south_ of the store?" Still no comprehension. "Duh! Guys! We can see what kind of car Erikson used! ...if Abby can enhance the footage. I'm getting it sent over right now."

Abby sat up, finally, and wiped her eyes. "Yes! I can enhance. I'm good at that!"

"You are the best, Abby," Ziva said.

"That's right. I _am_ the best! I can...I can find out. Get me the tapes and I'll...I'll find it. I'll find the car, the direction it's going, and everything. I'll find it!"

"I know you will, Abbs," Tony said. He held out his hand to help her up. "I know you will."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So, Agent McGee, I've decided that I'm going to start with your leg. I've never actually done a leg before. This will be a new experience for me." He began to cut open Tim's pant leg. "You have a scar. An old one. From what?"

"Car accident," Tim said, dully, still staring at the old beams.

"How old?"

"Sixteen."

"Yes, that tracks."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why? Why not?"

"Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"Why NCIS? Is it because of your father?"

Erikson laughed. It was unpleasant. "My father? You think this is some sort of _revenge_, Agent McGee? Please. Try another one. Let me tell you about my father. He was never home. I didn't know what he looked like until I was five. He worked all the time...embezzling as it turned out. When they finally caught him, the only one mourning was my mother. Dana and I didn't care."

Tim felt Erikson putting marker on his leg...prepping...

"So...why the dogs?"

"Well, my mother did tell me that one should never torture their pets. It's about the only time she paid attention long enough to lecture me. I listened. I have never tortured a pet since I tried it on Josie. I was being careful. It's not like I just got out the butcher knife and started cutting. I used the exacto knife...and I was _very_ careful."

"Great. So...why do you kill the dogs?"

"It's always quick. My mom never told me not to torture people."

"It's usually assumed."

"Of course it is."

"So you're psychotic."

For the first time, Erikson sounded angry. "Crazy. That would make it so easy for you, wouldn't it? You'd have some way to pigeon-hole me into a designated action. Well, sorry to tell you, Agent McGee, but psychosis does not fit my profile. I know very well what the social mores are. I just choose to disregard them."

"Why?"

"We all need to feel alive, Agent McGee. You'll be feeling more alive than you ever have before in your life. Pain stimulates your senses. You'll understand."

"Cutting me open will make me feel alive?" Tim asked, feeling the hysteria lurking around the edges of the question.

"For a while. Did you know, Agent McGee, that back in the Middle Ages people used to perform public dissections? They'd charge admission and it was considered a nice day out for the whole family."

"Yeah...Vesalius," Tim answered, surprised at himself for being able to dredge up the name from a memory of one of Ducky's many stories.

"Well, I'm impressed. An educated NCIS agent."

"How educated are you? No record of you after you dropped out of college."

Erikson laughed, but Tim heard the anger. "Some people don't learn well in a school setting. I've been reading books on anatomy ever since I had a library card. What do _you_ know, Mr. NCIS Agent? What are you, a phys ed major?"

"No."

"Yeah, you must be. With that big old dog."

"I'm smarter than you," Tim said.

"Oh, are you? Pray, what did you get a degree in?"

"Computer forensics...and biomedical engineering."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, I think I'm ready...oh, this will hurt."

Tim felt the pressure of the scalpel against his calf.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

High-pitched screams echoed from the barn and spilled out into the empty landscape. The only pause was when the screamer had enough in him to take a breath.

He screamed and screamed, but the witness to his pain only reveled in it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tim had never felt such pain. Sure, he'd had his leg broken as a teenager, but that was nothing compared to this. He couldn't decide if the pain was actually worse or if it had compounded with his absolute terror to make it _seem_ worse than his broken leg had been. He didn't bother trying to hold back the screams. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't work. Instead, he screamed and screamed, feeling each nerve-ending in his leg as Erikson cut and sliced his way to expose Tim's calf muscles. Tim tried not to know what was being done, but he knew. He couldn't help but know...and so, he screamed., felt the blood running down his leg, felt it pooling on the table, felt the scalpel.

Then, the scalpel was withdrawn. Tim kept screaming for a few seconds after that, but then, he was left taking shuddering breaths, nearly choking on the tears that insisted on running down his cheeks. Was this how Agent Jenkins had felt? Or was it worse for her, not knowing what was coming next?

"This is absolutely fascinating, Agent McGee," Erikson said. His voice was a distant echo, coming from miles away. "I can see your muscles twitching." He sounded like a child discovering something for the first time.

Tim was shaking, and it wasn't all from pain. He stared at the ceiling and started trying to count the large beams. He couldn't see them very well, but he tried to focus on them, tried to ignore the sound of Erikson' voice.

_One...two...three..._

"Just past here, you can see the tendons connecting to the tibia. Wonderful."

_Three...four...five..._

"Well, I may want to go back to that later, Agent McGee, but I think we'll move on."

Tim abruptly lost count, but he refused to look at Erikson...who didn't seem to care about that anyway. He was in his own world now, a world of his own making, and he was enraptured by whatever he saw.

"Next leg, this time..." Erikson said as he pulled out his scissors again. "...this time hip to knee, instead of knee to foot."

Tim felt his pant leg fall away, felt the marker again. He'd had nightmares as a kid. Monsters in the closet, under the bed...but never in his worst dreams could he have imagined something like this. His monsters weren't usually people...they looked like what they were: horrific, fanged, clawed creatures, sometimes with more limbs than they should have. They didn't look like normal people with monsters staring out the eyes.

The panic started to rise again and Tim refocused on the beams.

_One...two..._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, look at this!" Abby announced.

"We _are_ looking, Abby," Tony said. "We didn't leave."

"Look anyway!" Abby pointed at the screen and everyone obediently leaned forward to see. "Now, it's a bit pixelated because I had to zoom in and the camera didn't record very nicely as far away as I needed it to." She pushed a few buttons. "Okay, see that Buick?"

"That's a Buick?" Tony asked, squinting at the screen.

"Of course it is, Tony," Ziva said. "You can see the logo very clearly. Perhaps you are becoming afflicted with Gibbs' eyesight."

Both Gibbs _and_ Tony glared at her, although it was for different reasons.

"Well, _I_ can see it," she said, blinking innocently.

"_Look_ at the screen!" Abby shouted.

The three turned. A pixelated Tim ran into the shot, stopping near the Buick. He didn't look around. He didn't even move.

"What's he doing? Why did he stop running?" Tony asked.

"Sh!"

"Sh? Why? There's no sound."

Gibbs slapped him.

"Thanks, Boss."

Erikson, equally pixelated, came into view, gun in hand. He walked over to Tim and the two of them walked to the trunk. Tim turned around to face him, and they saw Erikson' arm lash out and then Tim lurched backward before collapsing into the trunk. Abby whimpered a little bit, but no one spoke. Then, Erikson got into the car and the Buick pulled away from the curb, toward the traffic camera. It moved forward and Abby got a few stills of the license plate as well as the make and model of the car.

"Here's your car," Abby said, her voice low.

"BOLO," Tony said to no one in particular and walked out.

"What did he do to Tim?" Abby asked.

"I think he hit him in the throat, around the gag reflex. The body would react like that if Erikson hit him hard enough. McGee probably collapsed due to hitting his head rather than the punch," Ziva said. "I will...help Tony with the BOLO."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was quiet outside the barn. Except for the Buick parked beside it, there was no sign of human life. A few birds had settled on the roof, chirping quietly to each other. The scene was peaceful, like something that Norman Rockwell would have used...maybe put a father and son leaning on the hood of the Buick, talking about life, or perhaps a boy leaning out of the driver's side, blowing a kiss to a teenaged girl as he drove away.

A scream destroyed the idyllic scene. The birds flew away. Another scream. ...and another. The barn door opened and a man walked out. He was bloody from the waist up...but none of the blood was his, nor was there a large amount of it. He walked calmly around the back of the barn. A few minutes later, he came back, clean. The man got into the Buick and drove away.

Silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Inside the barn was not so quiet. The screams had faded, but the man on the table sobbed loudly. He had heard the car pull away and that had allowed him to break down as he hadn't dared do before. Had he been able, he would have curled into a ball, but he couldn't move. The incision on his left leg had been draped with a cloth. The incision on his right leg had finally stopped bleeding. However, he still had the pain and the _memory_ of the pain...and the knowledge that more pain was coming to him as soon as the man returned.

He remembered the words the man had spoken. He had heard them even through his screams. He had tried not to hear, but he had heard. His voice seemed to cut through every other sound as if it had a direct connection to his brain. It was a horrifying thought...but the words were still there.

"_We'll do your arms next, Agent McGee...but first, I do need to take care of your dog. I have my reputation to consider."_

The restraints were secure. There were no weaknesses to exploit. The only weak thing in that barn, besides the beams overhead, was the man on the table. He trembled and cried. It was worse. He didn't care how much his broken leg had hurt. This was worse. It wasn't about the pain. It was about the fear, the certainty that he was going to die...and not quickly. This was going to take a long time. Hours, even if it was done steadily. More tears, more sobbing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss, we got a hit on the BOLO."

"Already? I didn't think they'd even had time to put out the info on the Buick," Gibbs said.

"Not on the Buick," Tony said. "On the first BOLO, the one for Erikson."

"Where?"

"Warrenton, Virginia."

"Where?"

"It's about...a hundred miles from here. Some lady reported that there was guy outside her store scaring the dogs."

"Scaring the dogs?" Gibbs asked.

"That's what the report says. What do you want to do?"

Gibbs sat back for a moment.

"We've been assuming that he was still somewhere in the Metro area, or just outside it. There's no reason for that assumption. Erikson could just as easily have taken him elsewhere. Get the sedan."

Tony nodded eagerly, glad to be doing _something_ other than sitting around. "On it, Boss."

Gibbs stood and went to the elevator. He rode it down to the lab. When he got to the door, it opened and he saw Abby sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Jethro whose head was in her lap. He was whining and Abby was petting him.

"Oh, Jethro, I know. It's not your fault. You're a good dog, a very good dog. We'll find him. We'll get him back. I know we will."

"Abbs."

"Gibbs! Did you find him?"

"No."

Abby deflated in an instant.

"I want to take Jethro. We got a hit on the BOLO. If he was close to Erikson, he might be able to pick something up that we miss."

"Jethro! Go with Gibbs!" Abby directed.

"Come on, Jethro. We're going to find McGee."

Jethro leapt to his feet and ran to the door of the lab. He was at the elevator waiting when Gibbs got there.

"Don't get too excited," he warned, although he wondered if he was really warning himself. "We don't know where he is yet."

Jethro cocked his head to the side and barked.

"Oh, get on the elevator."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Where's the dog, Agent McGee?"

Tim blinked.

"I asked you a question."

"Ask me something I can answer. I don't know." His voice was shaking.

"You sent him to Abby. Now, I assumed that Abby was your friend Abby Scuito, but he wasn't in her apartment. Neither was she."

"I guess Jethro is smarter than you are. Too bad...being dumber than a dog and all," Tim said. He didn't look away from the ceiling.

"You know how long I can prolong this, Agent McGee?"

"Oh, a long time, I'm sure. Unless you start actually _removing_ my internal organs, you can keep this up for a very long time, provided you don't accidentally nick any veins or arteries. I've seen the pictures."

There was a long silence, but Tim could hear the deep even breaths of a man trying to keep himself calm.

"Found your tongue...huh, Agent McGee?"

"Why? You going to take it out?"

"Not yet. You might choke on your own blood and I can't have that."

"What a pity...and what a pity you won't be able to kill my dog. Changes your m.o., doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes...my _modus operandi_. You are so fond of the Latin phrases to dress things up, aren't you."

"Well, you've had one, whether you like it or not." Tim knew that this bout of bravery wouldn't last. He'd start screaming, crying, becoming hysterical...but while he had it, he was going to use it. "Every time. Kill the dog first, quick knife to the throat. Then, kill the person second. Oh, the times you had them changed, varied a bit, but you still took longer on the people than on the dogs. You still haven't told me why."

"Why does there have to be a reason?"

"Because generally, there's _something_ that gets a serial killer started." Tim gulped, fighting back the tears as Erikson stepped closer. "You killed your own mother...but then you waited for years, a decade before you killed again."

Erikson laughed. "You only _think_ I waited a decade."

"There are more?"

"I didn't vivisect my mother, you know. Oh, I killed her, but I didn't cut her open...okay, I take that back, I did...but it wasn't to examine her living organs. First time in her life that she felt anything for me. She was finally afraid. Dana had warned her. I knew about that, but my mother was so very determined _not_ to be afraid. Too bad for her. She was wrong."

"There are more?"

"Many more. I had to perfect my technique. You don't think precision like this is achieved overnight, do you? They weren't NCIS. You'd be surprised how many homeless people have dogs."

"Why dogs?"

Erikson leaned over. "You don't have the clearance to know that, Agent McGee. I only give my reasons at the end. It's your passport to eternity."

Tim swallowed again. He wanted to get away from Erikson, but he couldn't move, couldn't even move his head.

"Well, Agent McGee, it's time for your right arm. I think we'll go with the same procedure as for the leg. Right arm, elbow to...well, I'll probably have to stop at your wrist. Too many arteries that could bleed out there. I don't want to kill you too quickly. Then, left arm, elbow to shoulder. Again, I'll have to be careful. Lots of important veins and stuff in there."

Tim felt the marker on his skin. It tickled. Of all the sensations he didn't want, tickling hadn't even been on the list...but now it was. Now, he didn't want to feel that.

"Well, why waste time?"

_One...two...three...four..._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The stillness was broken again. Screams, more ragged this time. The screamer was running out of energy to scream.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"I'm telling you, I didn't even _know_ you guys were looking for him when I told my son about the effect he had on the dogs. Did I, Roger?"

Roger, a sixteen-year-old who had suddenly found himself in an important situation, nodded eagerly. "You said it before the notice even came around. You said that it was the same guy."

"Are you _sure_ it was the same guy?" Tony asked.

"Hey, we have the security tapes from when he came into the store! You can check them yourself!" Roger said.

"Yes, please show me." Tony followed Roger into the back while Lucy, his mother, talked to Gibbs and Ziva.

"What kind of car did he drive? Did you see it?"

"He didn't drive a car."

"Are you sure?" Ziva asked.

"Positive. He walked in. He walked out. I saw him kneeling by a couple of dogs on leashes. I don't know what he was doing to them, but the dogs were afraid. I had to come out and tell him to get lost."

"And he walked away?"

"Yeah, I watched him to make sure he didn't come back. We get people coming through here, and they don't stay long. I want to keep my regular customers. I have to fight against Walmart, you know."

Gibbs smiled and nodded. "Okay, you said he walked away down the street. Which way?"

"East, out of town. There's not much out that way but farms until you come to Auburn. Other than that, just farms, old buildings."

"And he walked. You're sure that he walked."

"Yeah. I thought it was really weird. So...he's a serial killer, huh?"

Tony walked out of the back, pale, but when Gibbs looked at him, he nodded.

"It looks like it. Thank you, Lucy."

"You're sure welcome. Weird the way the dogs seemed to know. I guess some people just have an aura."

"Right." Gibbs nodded to her and then walked away.

"What are we going to do, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"We're going to track him down."

"How?"

"Using a dog," Gibbs said and smiled.

"How? They need to know the person they're tracking," Ziva pointed out.

"Or have tracked them before."

"What?"

Gibbs stopped and looked at them. "Remember? McGee said that Jethro was waking him up in the night. The store owner said that Jethro was trying to get into the store, which he'd never done before...and he was growling. He _knows_. How he knows, I haven't a clue, but he _knows_ Erikson, and he'll track him."

"I don't know about this, Boss. It seems...risky."

"Well, DiNozzo...do you have a better idea?"

"No. I just don't want to put everything on a dog. I don't want to have that be our only way of finding McGee."

"We're going to try. You follow along behind in the car. That way, if it doesn't pan out, we won't have lost much time. Keep tabs on the other BOLO...but this is where McGee is. He's _here_...somewhere." He strode over to the car and looked at Jethro. He was running back and forth across the seat, whining and barking. "Jethro!"

The dog stopped. Gibbs grabbed a leash and clipped it on his collar. Then, he opened the door. He didn't even get a chance to tell him to find Erikson. Jethro, pulling on the leash, nearly dragged Gibbs down the street...the street heading east. He cast one look back at Tony before breaking into a run, Ziva right beside him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The screams echoed and died away, leaving Tim shaking so violently that Erikson had to stop and sit back. He just watched, like he would watch a movie. Tim was hyperventilating and wheezing. His breathing was much too fast...but he stared up at the beams. There were twelve large beams that he could see. The smaller support beams were more difficult to count, particularly because his eyes kept filling up with tears, but that didn't matter. It made him focus more...it kept him from focusing on the horror that was happening to him.

_One...two..._ What came after two?_ ...three...three...four..._

"Well, that went very well. I don't know why I didn't think of trying this before, Agent McGee. Quite lovely. I'm very much impressed. Now, the next question is do I start on your back next or–?"

"Why dogs?" Tim whispered. He could barely form words, but anything to keep Erikson from saying what he was sure to be saying next. Anything.

"Why dogs...you do focus on the least interesting things, Agent McGee."

"You said..." Tim swallowed and tried to calm down. "...you said that...y-y-you practiced on homeless people...t-to perfect your...your technique. Why? What's so...important about...NCIS...and the...the dogs?"

He heard Erikson sit back on his stool. Tim couldn't stop the shaking. His body was completely out of his control. All he could do was lie there.

"Josie."

"What?"

"Josie. Our...or rather my _mom's_ chocolate lab. She loved that stupid dog. I didn't have a problem with the dog, of course. How could you really _hate_ a dog? It's not possible. That's why I kill them quick."

"Why kill them at all?"

"Oh, the dogs? Well, that's just stickin' it to my mom."

"Why? Sh-she can't see it. Y-You killed her."

"People love their dogs, Agent McGee. They treat them like one of the family. The really idiotic ones dress them up in clothes."

"That...that doesn't...answer my question."

"Agent McGee, you want there to be a reason? Make one up. That's the big secret. There _is_ no reason beyond the fact that I _want_ to do it and I _can_. That's why you're dying...because. Just because. How does that make you feel? To know that you're dying for no reason?"

Tim held back the hysteria looming in his brain. "You think you're some sort of Hannibal Lector?"

"No. Hannibal thought he was perfect. That's what gets them caught in the end. They think they're perfect which means they can't mess up...but no one is perfect. Everyone messes up. I didn't intend to be caught on tape...twice. However, I was prepared in case I was discovered. That means that even with the mistake, I could still continue. And I'm done with the US now. It will be a bit harder now. I have to figure out something else to do. I suppose I could just start over with NCIS again. That's one of the reasons I picked NCIS. Smaller pool. Harder for people to get away. Oh, sure, I'd only heard of it because of my dad, but I needed _something_ to give me a pattern. People love finding patterns. And now I'm done. You're the last one."

"You...you're not done."

"What?"

"I'm still alive. My dog is still alive...and there's a place you missed."

"A place I missed?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Figure it out...for...for yourself."

There was a long pause...silence, only broken by Tim's continued gasps. "Well, Agent McGee...I'm afraid our time must be drawing to a close. Killing the dog would be nice, but, honestly? I kill the dogs first because dogs seem to love their masters as much as their masters love them. Simple practicality. Besides, there's nothing that says I can't kill the dog later." The stool backed away for a moment and then slid closer. "I think we'll forgo the back this time. It's really rather boring and I'm not in the mood to flip you over. So...I'm afraid that..."

"No! Oh, please, no." Tim started to weep.

"Don't worry. It will take a long time," Erikson said, the glee in his voice obvious. "I don't want to miss anything. You'll be aware probably until I crack open your sternum to get to your heart." He shifted the restraint on Tim's torso.

Tim felt the scissors cutting his shirt, exposing his chest. He began to scream again, not in pain this time, but in absolute terror. In his mind, in the midst of his screaming, he began to pray, _If there's a God...don't let me die this way. Oh, God, please._ He felt the marker making dash marks from the base of his throat down his chest, to his abdomen, stopping just below his navel.

Except for Erikson's voice, Tim couldn't hear anything beyond his breath, harsh to his own ears. The breaths that came in between his screams. He felt the scalpel press down against his chest and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut because he couldn't bear to see, to even confront the idea of it. The fact that it was happening was bad enough. Images of the other cases flashed through his mind, and he knew his body would end up looking that way.

The scalpel broke through the skin and Erikson began to draw it downward. Then, only two inches into the cut, Erikson removed it and stood up, walking out of the barn. The unexpected reprieve, even though he knew it was only temporary, was too much and Tim was in hysterics.

Erikson would be coming back to finish the job.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jethro stopped, pacing back and forth. Gibbs and Ziva took the opportunity to take a breath. Running after a dog as energetically as Jethro required was exhausting, even for people who were in shape. Tony was driving along behind.

He leaned out the window. "He lost it, Boss?"

"Don't know...Tony," Gibbs replied, panting.

Then, Jethro sat up and whimpered. His ears flicked back and forth and then he barked, once...twice.

"He's going again," Gibbs said and took one last deep breath before Jethro took off, dragging Gibbs along behind. He would have simply let him off the leash, but he could be sure that Jethro would come back and let them know the right direction, not when he was in this state.

They ran solidly for another mile and then Jethro stopped again, panting and waited, sniffing the ground and wandering. Then, Jethro growled, his ears flicked toward a dirt road the branched off the main road. He barked and growled and then took off down the dirt road. As he ran, the humans finally heard what the dog had heard.

"That was McGee," Ziva shouted breathlessly.

"Yeah," Gibbs responded. Then, the leash slipped out of his hand and Jethro sped up, leaving them behind. Gibbs turned back. "Tony! Come on!" Tony pulled up closer, slowed down and Gibbs and Ziva jumped in. "Go! Go!"

"Going!" Tony floored the gas as Jethro disappeared around a bend in the road. They caught up just in time to see a perfect illustration, among other things, of what had almost happened to Tim when Jethro was high on drugs...and the fierce loyalty and protectiveness that was trademark of German Shepherds. Growling, Jethro leapt through the air and knocked Erikson to the ground. Tony stopped the car and they all spilled out into the yard, guns in the air.

"Stop, Jethro! Stop! Heel!" Ziva shouted and then ran forward to pull the dog off of Erikson. She finally succeeded...but only because Jethro allowed her to. He was still growling menacingly.

"Hands in the air, Erikson. It's over," Gibbs said, wishing that Erikson would do something.

Erikson sat up, the blood on his shirt now belonging to him as well as to Tim. He looked at Jethro with a great deal of malice, but Jethro was not cowed. He pulled against Ziva's restraining hand, his growl increasing. Then, Erikson looked at the rest of them. There was a speculative look in his eye.

"Try it, Erikson. Just try it," Gibbs said.

One half of his mouth lifted in a caricature of a smile as he looked from Ziva to Tony to Gibbs...before settling on Jethro.

Then, he obliged.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lay there, feeling the blood running from his chest to his neck and pooling in the small cavity below his Adam's apple before running down his neck to the table. He was still crying, still waiting for the real agony to begin. The door to the barn opened once more and Tim flinched. As the footsteps approached, he began to sob again, more loudly. A hand touched him on the arm.

"No! No, please, please...not this way! No!"

"McGee...Tim, it's Gibbs. We found you. You're safe."

Tim couldn't hear him. He heard the words but he wouldn't hear them. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

"McGee, open your eyes." There was a shifting and Tim heard, "Find something to get these restraints off him. Tim, open your eyes."

Finally, Tim did so. He stared up at the ceiling, not having many other options. Then, his view was blocked by a face looming over him.

"Tim, we've got you. You're safe now."

It was Gibbs. Gibbs was looking down at him. Tim stared at him for a moment and then knew what that meant.

"Th-Th-There are...t-t-twelve beams...twelve beams, Boss," Tim said and then he began to sob hysterically. "Only twelve. Only twelve. Only twelve."

"It's okay, Tim," Gibbs said, his hand on Tim's shoulder, trying not to see the state of Tim's body...and failing miserably. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"He dead?" Tony asked as he ran out of the barn, heading for the sedan.

"Yes. He is dead. I hope there is a special place in Hell for him," Ziva said, looking at the body, the gun lying on the ground nearby. There were three bullets in him, plus the marks from Jethro's jaws. They'd all gotten a chance.

"You may want more than that when you see, McGee," Tony replied, his face pale. "We need something to get rid of the restraints."

"Restraints?"

"Yeah, they're metal. We need to get them off, but I can't even figure out how he got them _on_. I'm getting the tool box."

"Maybe I can get them off."

"Take a breath before you go in. You won't be breathing deeply inside," Tony said. His eyes glistened and his voice shook. He turned around quickly and ran to the car.

Ziva looked at Jethro who had taken up a guard position over Erikson's body.

"Come, Jethro. You should guard someone worth guarding."

He trotted over to her and followed her to the door of the barn.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was taking quick shallow breaths as he stared at the ceiling. Every so often, he'd take one deep breath as if he was trying to calm down and was unable to do so. Gibbs had never wanted to give a hug more in his life...and he couldn't because Tim was still trapped on the table, each limb cut open, the muscles, tendons and veins open to the world...and Tim was only barely hanging on. He could see it in his face. Even though he wasn't going to die, even though it was over...it wasn't over. Tim was hysterical and with good reason. He had known in minute detail what was going to happen to him...and he had to just wait for it to happen.

The door to the barn opened, admitting Ziva. Tim's breathing immediately sped up and he tried to get away.

"Shh...it's okay. It's okay, Tim. It's just Ziva."

"D-don't...no..."

"It's not Erikson. Erikson is dead. Got it?"

Tim's eyes closed again as he began whimpering. It wasn't even a conscious sound, Gibbs could tell, and he had to take a deep breath himself to get rid of the lump in his throat.

"Tim...Tim, open your eyes," he said.

Tim didn't respond. He couldn't even shake his head. Gibbs could see him struggling.

"Tim, open your eyes," he repeated.

Tim did. His whimpering continued as he tried to speak but couldn't make the words.

"Shh...Tim, just calm down. Okay? Look at me. Erikson is _dead_. Say it. Say the words. Say that Erikson is dead."

Tim looked at him...but only because he couldn't look anywhere else. He wasn't really seeing Gibbs. He was only staring.

"Come on, Tim. Fight this. Don't give in. You don't have to give in. Don't let Erikson win. He's dead!"

Tim just stared, on the verge hyperventilating. Gibbs sighed and looked over at Ziva.

"Do we need an axe to get him off?" he asked, angry at the delay.

"I have never seen restraints like these, Gibbs. I do not _know_ how they work."

Gibbs started to walk down toward the end of the table where Ziva was examining the restraint, but a frantic hand, grabbed at his pant leg as he passed. He looked back at Tim. He was still staring at the ceiling.

"Eriks-s-son...is...dead?"

"That's right. That's right, Tim. He's dead."

"Wh-Where...Jethro...he's..."

"He's right here, Tim." Gibbs looked at Ziva with raised eyebrows and she waved her hands helplessly and then went back to her examination. "Jethro, come here." The dog ran over to Gibbs and put his paws up on the table.

"I...c-c-can...hear him there," Tim said, a pained smile on his face.

"He's the one who found you, Tim."

Tim's hand flailed around a bit until he touched Jethro's paw. Gibbs watched with a breaking heart as Tim's trapped hand began to pet his dog's paw. Jethro put his head down near Tim's hand and licked it.

"G-Good dog, Jethro. Good dog," Tim said, the tears threatening again. "Get me off this table! Get me off! Get me off!" Tim screamed and pulled against the restraints. Jethro barked and growled as Tim kept shouting.

"Tim! Tim, look at me!"

"Get me off! Get me off!"

"Tim!" Gibbs leaned over the table and grabbed Tim's shoulders. "Tim, stop! Stop it!"

Tim abruptly stopped struggling and started crying again. "Get me off...please, get me off of here."

"Tim, we're working on it. We won't leave you here. Okay? It's just going to take some time."

"Got the tools," Tony announced as he ran back into the barn.

Tim flinched away and whimpered.

"It's not Erikson."

"Just me, Probie," Tony said and settled down at Tim's feet. "We'll have you out of here in no time. The ambulance is on the way...so is Ducky."

Tim kept crying. "Please, let me go. I don't...I can't...please."

"Tim, I know it hurts. I know you're scared...but we're here and you're safe."

"Ah! I got it!" Ziva announced.

"I'm getting through, too! Told you, Probie."

"Okay, hold it for a second," Gibbs said. "Tim, I need you to listen, okay?"

"What? Let me off."

"That's what I need you to listen for."

Tim's legs clinked against now-loosened restraints.

"Listen, Tim!"

"What? What?" Tim was nearly screaming again.

"Okay, we're going to take off the restraints, but you need to not start panicking and trying to move around. Do you understand?"

"No! I want to get off this...this...table."

"Yeah, I know, but Tim, Erikson...he didn't..." Gibbs searched for a convenient euphemism and couldn't find one. "...he didn't...close the..."

Tim closed his eyes and let out ragged sobs.

"...so we can't let you move around. You need to stay on the table until the paramedics get here. Do you understand?"

"I...I can't move," Tim said.

"Do you understand, Tim? Once we take these off, you have to stay still. Got it?" Gibbs had seen a lot in his time, from people getting blown apart in a war to kids being killed by their parents, but there was a feeling of...something especially heinous in the methodical way Erikson had tortured Tim. It was too clinical, too organized...to seemingly sane.

Then, he heard Tony whisper, "It's like when we dissected frogs in eighth grade."

Gibbs gave him a death glare, but it could scarcely be worse than the sight of Tim's limbs cut open. Still, he stopped talking.

"Do you understand me, Tim?"

There was a pause and then a tearful, "Yes."

"Good. Get those things off him."

"With pleasure," Ziva said. She got the left leg restraint off only a moment later and Tim began to move it.

"Stop moving, Tim!"

The leg went still and Ziva moved to the left arm at the same time as Tony finished with the right leg. It seemed to start moving on instinct and Tony grabbed Tim's ankle to stop him from moving it around. His eyes were involuntarily drawn to the left leg which lay limply on the table.

"Don't move your legs, Probie."

The right leg stopped moving.

"Okay, right arm, now."

"Left arm is almost done, McGee," Ziva said. "Then, we will get your head and chest. Yes?"

Tim didn't speak. He just stared at the ceiling. She could see his lips moving, but other than the breathing that revealed just how incredibly ragged he was, he wasn't making any sound.

"McGee, I am going to take off the restraint from your left arm. Ready?"

Tim didn't respond.

"McGee, can you hear me?"

"Ten...eleven...t-t-twelve..." Tim broke down in tears again as Ziva took off the restraint. His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist...but he kept counting. "...fifteen...sixteen..."

"Gibbs?" Ziva asked. Gibbs was bent over, working on the strap around Tim's head.

"What?" Gibbs looked up and saw Tim's white-knuckle grip on her wrist. He smiled. "Tony, can you get the chest restraint?"

"Sure thing, Boss. Okay, Probie," Tony said, his tone not revealing how horrified he was, "right arm is done. Now, don't move your arm, okay? I need to get the last one off." He took the restraint off and put it on the ground. "One more to go...once the Boss gets your head free. He's getting slow."

"You'd be a lot faster if you kept your mouth shut, DiNozzo." They were doing this for Tim's sake...and for their own...even if Tim didn't appear to be noticing. "Head is free."

Tim didn't move his head. The only parts of him showing signs of life were his eyes, his lips as he continued to count, and his hands, his left stilling holding onto Ziva and his right, now petting Jethro, in spite of the obvious pain it was giving him.

"Chest is free," Tony announced.

Slowly, Tim released Ziva and moved his hand to his chest. He didn't move his eyes from the ceiling, but he started to rub at the permanent marker Erikson had used to indicate the incision line.

"Tim?" Gibbs said. "Tim?"

Tim began to rub harder and more frantically. Ziva touched his hand but he shook his head.

"Get it off..." he whispered. "Get it off."

"Get what off?"

"Get it off!" Tim shrieked and began rubbing frantically at the marks, pulling the damaged tissue and making his arm bleed. His other hand began rubbing at his chest as well. "Get it off! Get it off! I don't want him to cut me open!"

Gibbs took one look at Tony and Ziva and shook his head. Yeah, they didn't want to cause anymore damage but Tim was freaking out and needed someone to help. With that thought, he pulled Tim up and put his arms around him.

"Tim, we can't get it off now. You're not going to be cut open again. You're not."

"Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off." Tim wept as he weakly tried to rub away the evidence of what had been in store for him.

Gibbs held on and nodded to Tony and Ziva. They both gently took one of Tim's hands and pushed them down...and ended up holding onto them because Tim wouldn't let go.

"We'll get the marker off, Probie," Tony said. "You might have to wait for a sexy nurse to do it, but we'll get the marker off."

Tim tried to smile, but he couldn't make it all the way. He started to cry uncontrollably. The four stayed in that position until the ambulance arrived from the Fauquier Hospital in Warrenton. When the siren sounds approached, Tony extricated his hand.

"I'll go tell them where to go." He ran out the door. He must have warned them what to expect as well because they only looked shocked for a moment.

"Tim, the EMTs are here. We're going to let you down now, okay?"

Tim nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He took a deep breath as Gibbs lay him back down on the table. Then, Gibbs grabbed one of the paramedics and dragged him to the side.

"Hey! What are you–?"

Gibbs looked him right in the eye. His voice was low, but he had never been more serious than he was at that moment. "Whatever you do, do _not_ strap him down when you put him on that gurney."

"What? We have to–"

"No! You will _not_ strap him down. We just spent the last twenty minutes trying to get him free of the restraints that psycho had put on him so that he could _cut him open_! You understand me? He is hanging on by a thread right now. You put any sort of restraints on him, even if it's just to keep him from flopping around, we could lose him. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good. Now, go do your job."

The other paramedic was already assessing.

"Sir..."

"His name is Tim," Ziva said.

"Tim, we're going to put you on the gurney and get you to the hospital. Okay? Tim?"

Tim was staring at the ceiling again.

"McGee," Ziva said, leaning over him, "they are moving you to the hospital now. Are you ready to go?"

Tim looked at her. "Don't make me go alone."

"May I go along?" she asked. "I will not be in the way."

"Yeah. Come on."

"Gibbs, I am going with McGee."

"We'll follow along and meet you there."

"Jethro!" Tim shouted.

"We'll bring him, Probie," Tony said.

"Jethro! Come!" The dog didn't have to be asked twice. He ran to Tim's head and again put his paws on the table. He licked his face. Tim tried not to cry this time, but he couldn't help it. "You are a very good dog. Thank you. Good dog."

"Tim? We need to go," the paramedic said. "We're going to transfer you to the gurney now."

Tim nodded and stopped petting Jethro.

"Okay. On three. One...two...three!" They smoothly moved Tim onto the gurney. One EMT reached out for the straps, but the other shook his head quickly and they pushed the gurney to the waiting ambulance. Ziva gave Gibbs and Tony one last look before getting in herself. Then, the ambulance pulled away, siren wailing.

For a long moment, Gibbs and Tony stood watching it leave. Then, as soon as it disappeared around the curve, Tony walked over to Erikson's body and kicked it as hard as he could. Then, he kicked it again.

"Tony!" Gibbs ran over and pulled him away. "That's not going to help!"

"That...did you see what he _did_ to McGee? Did you _see_ that? He cut him open! He sliced into his arms and his legs...all the way down to the bone in some places!" There were no jokes, nothing but grief and shock and revulsion. "He did that! He did that to McGee...because he had a _dog_! Crazy...psychotic..." Tony swallowed once and then ran to the bushes and threw up. Gibbs walked over and held him up as he puked. When he straightened, Gibbs clapped him on the shoulder.

"You did good, Tony."

"Well, I always did have a talent for vomiting," Tony said as he wiped his mouth and spat out the last of it.

"You know what I mean. You didn't let McGee see _any_ of that in there. He needed that more than he needed anything else. You did good."

"I wish we hadn't killed him so fast."

"Me, too. Ziva should have let Jethro tear him apart."

"Poetic justice?"

"Yeah." He looked at his watch. "Ducky should be here in about half an hour. We'd better wait...secure the scene."

Tony nodded. "I've seen bloodier crime scenes, you know. I've seen things that are a lot worse than this...but this was worse."

"That's because it was McGee...and because the guy who did it to him didn't care."

"You know, Boss...guy like that...makes you wonder sometimes...what's so great about the human race."

Gibbs knelt down. "Jethro!" The dog trotted over and Gibbs petted him and pulled Tony down. "Pet the dog, Tony."

"What? Are you nuts?"

"Pet the dog."

"Okay." He pet Jethro and Gibbs got up to start processing the scene. Gibbs took a glance as he put up the caution tape. Tony was scratching behind Jethro's ears and smiling. The police pulled up a few minutes later and Ducky followed about twenty minutes after that. Tony started helping out, but Gibbs gestured.

"You got it, Ducky?"

"I wish I didn't, but yes, I do. Is McGee going to be staying at the hospital in Warrenton?"

"They'll transfer him to DC as soon as he's stable."

"Then, I will see you all later...if I can stomach touching this piece of filth." Ducky leaned over Erikson's body. "Come, Mr. Palmer. Let's get this over with shall we?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Gibbs walked to the sedan, Tony right behind him.

"Feel better, Tony?"

"Yeah, Boss. Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Thank Jethro."

"I still think that's weird."

"Me, too...but at least someone appreciates the name. Let's go."

"Right." The two men and the dog got in the car and drove away from the barn.

...in silence.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Who's here for Timothy McGee?"

"Here!" Ziva said. "I came in with him."

"Family?"

"Coworker...friend."

"Where's his family?"

"We will call them. Is he going to be okay?"

The doctor nodded. "I've never seen such...awful precision. I hope I never do again in my life. That guy didn't hit a single nerve or major artery. There are so many ways that Timothy could have been either killed through exsanguination or had permanent damage due to problems with the nerves and tendons..."

"But?"

"But we had to sedate him completely... He saw the...our equipment and he just freaked out. I understand why, but we couldn't keep him awake for it. I'd like to have someone he knows in recovery when he wakes up."

"I will come. Our friends will be here soon." Actually, Ziva had expected Tony and Gibbs to be there already, but she had realized that they would need to take care of the scene first. "He will heal?"

"Yes, completely. It was more a matter of taking care of any infection and then...stitching him up. There are a _lot_ of stitches. Still, he was lucky."

"Lucky?" Ziva's voice took on a dangerous note.

"Yes. Had his...that man been any less skilled at what he was doing, Timothy would have bled out before you could save him. I would not wish this on my worst enemy, but Timothy was lucky. Now, we've made arrangements to have him transferred to DC once he's recovered from the anesthesia. When he gets there...he'll need a psych evaluation. I've already notified them."

"Psych evaluation?"

"Yes. This kind of trauma, his reaction, he'll be in great need of therapy...probably for a long time." The doctor gestured. "He's right in here."

Ziva stopped in the doorway. Tim was lying quietly on a gurney, his eyes closed. There was a bandage over both his arms and at the top of his chest. She knew there would be bandages on his legs as well, even though she couldn't see them.

"The bandages are just to keep the...incisions clean. They're all stitched up. We debrided and in a few weeks all he'll have are scars," the doctor said, his voice low. "If he decided to get some cosmetic surgery, he wouldn't even have the scars."

Ziva nodded.

"Physically, he's fine, ma'am. There should be no complications."

"Yes. I understand. Our friends...they should be here soon. Could you–?"

"I'll send them back to recovery if they get here before Timothy wakes up."

"Thank you." Ziva took a deep breath and walked over to the bed. She looked back toward the hallway, but there was no one around; so she sat beside Tim. It was nice to see him so quiet, so...peaceful, but she knew that he wouldn't be that way when he woke up, not if how he'd been before was any indication. "McGee, you will be okay. I am here."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jimmy stared at the corpse as it lay on the autopsy table. The man looked so normal...barring the bite marks and the three bullet holes, of course. And yet, this man had tortured and killed ten different people, and he had almost killed Tim as well.

"Morbid fascination, Mr. Palmer?"

Jimmy jumped and looked at Ducky. "No. Not fascination. Do you think we'll find something that will explain what he did?"

"Explain? Justify? Excuse, perhaps? No. I don't. I don't believe we'll find anything in his autopsy that reveals his twisted mind. I believe that he will look just like any other corpse on the inside...which just goes to show you, Mr. Palmer, that we are more than gut and gristle. There is more to man than his body. There is a soul...at least in most people. I don't know if this man ever had one." He picked up a scalpel. "And he is making his end in the same way he ended so many other lives...cut open."

"Is it justice, Doctor?"

"Justice? I don't know...but I do know that I am not perfect and therefore I will feel a sense of deep satisfaction when I cut this man open." Ducky leaned over to begin the autopsy.

Jimmy stared at him for a moment and then shifted to looking at Erikson's face.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Mr. Palmer?"

"May I assist?"

Ducky straightened and met Jimmy's gaze. "Jimmy, you may indeed."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a strange sensation, waking up from the anesthesia. There was a sense of dislocation, of confusion...of blissful amnesia. Tim opened his eyes, but they felt very heavy and they drooped closed again. He rather thought that there couldn't be much gained by fighting his heavy lids, but he decided to try again anyway. The world went from black to blurry white...with a dark spot in one corner. Tim decided that wasn't the way the world should look; so he blinked. The dark spot resolved itself into Ziva's head. She was looking away toward something else. Even so, Tim figured there were lots worse things he could have seen upon his return to consciousness.

That was the thought that triggered the end of the pleasant amnesia. His recent past slammed into him with the force of a freight train and it was suddenly very difficult to breathe.

"McGee?" Ziva's head turned back toward him.

Tim was trying to breathe slowly but his mind disagreed with that idea and continued to push the air in and out of his lungs in noisy shallow gasps.

"McGee, just breathe slowly. It is all right. You are safe."

"Safe? Really?" Tim asked, not feeling safe, not feeling like it was all right...it was _not_ all right. "So..." He laughed...to keep back the tears. "...so I just..._imagined_ being..." He could say the word. He couldn't face the images that evoked.

"No, McGee...you did not imagine it. It happened. I wish that it had not, but it did. You are safe now. Erikson is..."

"...dead," Tim finished, remembering what Gibbs had said. "Erikson is dead."

"Yes. Gibbs and Tony are on their way here."

Tim nodded and tried to calm down, but he really couldn't. "Ziva..."

Ziva looked away from him for a moment and he heard her say, "McGee is awake."

A moment later, a stranger was leaning over him, shining an annoying light in his eyes, taking his pulse. Tim was not happy.

"Leave me alone. Let me go."

"Timothy, I'm your doctor. I'm just checking to make sure you're doing all right after your surgery."

"Surgery? You _cut me open?_" Tim began to panic.

"No, all we did was repair the damage already done. We put in some...a lot of stitches and covered the wounds with bandages. That's all we did."

Tim wanted to believe him. In his head, he knew he should, but at the moment, trust was a little thin on the ground. Perhaps the doctor could tell.

"Timothy, we helped you. That's all we did."

"McGee, it is true. You are in the hospital and you are not in any danger. We made sure of that."

Tim nodded and tried to calm down. "I can't...b-breathe." His chest felt too tight.

"Yes, you can, Timothy." The doctor's voice was calm and soothing.

"N-No...I...it...c-can't...breathe."

The doctor put an oxygen mask over Tim's mouth. "Just breathe. You're fine. It's a reaction to the trauma. That's completely normal. You've had a bad shock to your system, but you _can_ breathe. You are not in any danger. Just breathe. If you need to cry, just let it out. There's nothing wrong with that."

Tim looked from the doctor to Ziva. He didn't want to cry. He knew he had before, but now...he shouldn't be crying. He knew he was safe now. He knew that...and it didn't even matter.

"McGee..."

Tim looked at Ziva, but he was still trying to hold it back, hold it in, hold back the sheer horror of what had happened to him. Ziva reached out and took his hand.

"...I am here. You will get through this because you are not alone...and you are strong enough to do it." Then, she smiled. "But until you are ready...you can cry on my shoulder. I will not even tell Tony."

Tim laughed...and then he cried...and cried. Ziva pulled him up and leaned his head on her shoulder. It wasn't the hysterical sobbing of before. It was just a release of emotions and an acknowledgment of what had been done. Ziva hesitated. He felt her discomfort, but then she put her arms around him as he cried.

"It hurt, Ziva," he said. Then, he laughed through his tears. "Wow...that was an understatement, wasn't it."

"Yes. I do believe it was."

"It did. It hurt...and I couldn't see it happening. I felt...I felt the marker...I felt the scalpel...and he was so...he was excited," Tim whispered. "He _enjoyed_ cutting me open. He told me about what he was seeing...like I was some...some big science experiment." Tim laughed and shook his head. Then, he swore. "It was...the worst moment of my life." Tim felt the eight stitches on his chest. "I knew you would be looking for me, but when that...when he started, I thought it was too late."

Tim felt Ziva's arm tighten around him. "We thought we might be too late, too, McGee."

"Thank you," Tim whispered. "Thank you for...for saving me."

"You had better thank Jethro."

"Oh, I will. I promise."

"Good."

"Probie!" The door opened once more revealing Tony and Gibbs...and Jethro who barked enthusiastically. "We heard you were all in one piece!"

Tim pulled back from Ziva and gave a watery smile. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do. "Hey, Tony. All put back together again."

Tony's smile flagged for just a moment before getting plastered across his face once more. "That's good...we need you back, McGee."

Tim smiled. "Man, I must look like crap right now...you would never say that normally." Tim looked past Tony to Gibbs. "Thanks, Boss. Thanks, all of you. I...I really thought that was it." Tim had to close his eyes for a moment and bite his lip. "Sorry...flashback. Just a second." He clenched his fists and swallowed. As he sat there, he felt a weight...three separate weights on his bed. Then, a hand on his knee, an arm around his shoulders. Another hand on his arm, just above the bandages...and a furry weight at his feet.

"We don't need to wait, Tim," Gibbs said. "We'll still be here."

"Thanks, Boss. Am I going to make it?"

"Oh, yeah. I have no doubt of it."

"I'll trust you."

"We'll be there."

"Thanks." Tim let out a deep sigh and finally relaxed. "I'm tired."

"Then, sleep. We'll get the arrangements for your transfer all worked out," Gibbs said. He paused and smiled. "And we'll leave Jethro here. I don't think the nurses like him running around the hospital much."

Tim smiled as Ziva patted the chair and got Jethro up. She then pushed it close to the bed so that Tim could reach it.

"Thanks, Ziva."

"We will be back."

The three of them left. Tim took one more deep breath and wiped away the lingering tears. He looked over at his dog.

"You know what, Jethro?" Tim asked. Jethro barked softly once at his name. "I didn't want you before. I tolerated you for about a month, telling myself every single day that I was going to go to Abby and tell her to forget it. I still don't like how I ended up with you, but..." Tim leaned over and buried his face in Jethro's fur. "...but I'm so glad that you were there. Thank you, Jethro. Thank you."

When the others got back to the room, Tim was asleep...with Jethro curled up beside him...on the bed, the dog's head resting on Tim's abdomen. One of Tim's arms was draped across Jethro's back. They looked at the sight and then at each other and nodded.

Getting back to DC wasn't urgent. They could wait.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Two weeks later..._

"Sarah, I told you that you could go."

"Tim, I don't want to leave you alone."

Tim stopped digging through the floor of his closet and looked up at her. Sarah was sitting on the bed, petting Jethro...who had his leash in his mouth.

"I won't _be_ alone. I have Jethro with me and you know, I do have friends, friends who have been almost annoying in how often they've been calling."

Sarah laughed but she didn't look up from Jethro.

Tim stood, wincing a little as his legs weren't fully recovered yet, walked to the bed and sat down beside her.

"Sarah, I'm okay."

"You had a nightmare last night. It woke me up."

They weren't looking at each other, just sitting. Mostly they were looking at Jethro who appeared to be enjoying the attention.

"Yes, I did...and the nightmares won't be stopping anytime soon. That's why I'm in therapy."

"Tim, you were crying."

"Yes. I know." Tim remembered very well the dream that had driven him from sleep the night before. It had been a variation of the same dream he'd had every night since his rescue. "But you still have a ticket. You're supposed to be going home for a visit."

"Mom and Dad will kill me if I leave you here."

"I'll tell them that I kicked you out of my apartment, leaving you alone and bereft, facing a cold cruel world of callous..." Tim laughed. "...okay, I'm running out of melodrama. Sarah, go. Go home, and I promise that no other serial killers will get me in the interim. I'm getting my stitches out next week, and I'll be just fine. I promise."

"You're not fine yet."

"No, I'm not. Not yet, but I will be. Just give me time."

Sarah nodded and finally looked at him. She stopped petting Jethro and threw her arms around Tim. "Oh, Tim. It could have been...you could have died!"

Tim hugged her back. "I could have...but I didn't, and Erikson is dead now. I'm safe. You can go. I'm safe, Sarah."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay, I'll go. Just don't disappear while I'm gone."

"Only if I get a invitation to the Bahamas from sultry mystery woman."

"What?"

"Hey, I can dream, can't I?"

Sarah pulled back and laughed. "Okay, okay. I can do without the imagery." She picked up her bag and walked to the door. Tim followed her. When she reached it, she turned back and hugged him tightly again. "I love you, Tim."

"Love you, too, Sarah."

She left and Tim closed the door behind her, staring at the knob for a few minutes before heading back to his bedroom.

"Okay, Jethro...time to go out. You ready to be my guard dog? Keep me from freaking out while we're walking?" Jethro began to bark and jump around. He had understood maybe four words of Tim's request, but he was happy with the idea of going out. "All right. Just remember that I'm not running. You can run when we get to the park, but not before then. I'm not up to it yet. Got it?"

Jethro barked a few more times and jumped some more.

"Okay, okay. I see it's useless trying to get through to you. We'll go. I promised my shrink I'd go outside every day. I haven't been out yet today; so let's go. I just need my shoes." Tim dug around for his sneakers and put them on. Then, he sat on his bed for a minute, looking out the window. "Jethro, I'm not going to let him win. Let's confront the wide world."

Tim stood up and left, Jethro bounding in his wake.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One week later..._

"So, how's it going, Tim?"

Tim sat on the chair and looked out the window. "I had a bad night."

"How bad?"

"Woke up at two...never went back to sleep." He had learned that pretending nothing was wrong didn't help him and didn't get him out of therapy any faster. The best way to be finished was to actually make an effort. His therapist was nice and very competent. It made the whole unpleasantness easier to deal with.

"What brought it on this time?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, let's think about it. Your sister is still gone, correct?"

"Yeah. She's visiting my parents."

"So, you're alone in your apartment."

"No, Jethro's there."

"I noticed that he's not here today."

"Yeah. I have a dog walker and since I'm going back to work next week, I wanted to get him back in the habit."

"That's a good idea. How are you dealing with that?"

"With what?"

"Your dog not being there. From what you've said in the past, he's been with you pretty much constantly since you got out of the hospital."

Tim shifted uncomfortably. "No. I'm sure that..." He thought about it a bit more. "You're right. I can't really think of a time when he _hasn't_ been there. It's fine."

"Fine?"

"It is fine. I don't like it, but it's fine."

"So, back to your bad night."

"Right. Well...I don't think it's because of Jethro, if that's what you're wondering."

"You sure?"

"No, but I don't think so."

"Then, what is it? If you know what it's not, you must have some idea about what it _is_."

Tim laughed. "Good point."

"Well?"

Tim shifted around again.

"What is it, Tim? It's not like you to be so...reticent."

Tim opened his mouth and then closed it again. Finally, he blurted, "I'm getting my stitches out today. All of them."

"This afternoon?"

"Yeah."

"You nervous?"

An annoying lump formed in his throat and Tim looked away from his shrink. "Yeah."

"More than nervous?"

"Terrified," Tim whispered.

"Why?"

"Because..." Three weeks after the fact and Tim still had a hard time articulating what had happened. He could barely bring himself to _look_ at his arms and legs.

"You can say the words, Tim. It won't catapult you back in time..._or_ location."

Tim smiled a bit but it didn't last. "I know that. I just..."

"It's only been three weeks, Tim. You're allowed to have problems."

"All my nightmares are about getting cut open...and...and getting my stitches out is...it's just too much like that."

"Tim, take off your jacket."

"What?"

"Take off your jacket. I know it's not too cold in here. You can tolerate the temperature. So take it off."

Reluctantly, Tim shucked off his jacket, baring the long incisions running from wrist to elbow and elbow to shoulder. The transparent sutures were still visible and the incisions were healing to scars.

"Look at them, Tim. Look at them now."

Tim took a deep breath and stared at his arms.

"Touch the stitches. I know they don't hurt anymore."

The lump in Tim's throat grew larger and more insistent.

"Acknowledge that they're there because since you've decided not to do any surgery, they're going to stay where they are for the rest of your life. You have to come to terms with that and you had better start now...preferrably _before_ you lose it with the very nice doctors who will be in charge of removing the sutures today."

Tim laughed, but a couple of tears fell down his cheeks as he gently touched the healing wounds with light fingers. He rubbed up and down first from wrist to elbow, then, with his other hand, he pulled up his sleeve and rubbed from elbow to shoulder.

"The doctors kept telling me how lucky I was," he said softly. "The first time they said that, I wanted to punch them in the face because I really didn't feel lucky...but as they kept on saying it..." He touched the stitches at the top of his chest. "...Only two inches up here. Two inches. He stopped at two inches...and he never got any farther. How much luckier could I get once I was on that table? I really was lucky."

"I'm sure you didn't see it that way."

Tim shook his head and ran his hands over his stitches again. "No. I'm still not sure I do sometimes."

"It can take a while to adjust, Tim. That's what I'm here for."

"Yeah, I know." Another deep breath. "I know."

"What time is your appointment?"

"One thirty."

"Call me when you finish...and take someone with you. You don't have to do it alone, you know."

"Everyone is working."

"And you think they won't drop everything to come if you ask?"

"No, I know they will."

"Then, what's the problem?"

Tim shrugged. "Me. I'm the problem."

"Seriously, Tim."

"I just don't like imposing on them. I know they'd do it and, especially Tony, would come running."

"Especially Tony?"

"Yeah. It's kind of weird. He keeps calling, dropping in just to 'see how I'm doing' or something like that. It's really not like him."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"No. I tried once but he shrugged it off."

"Well, take someone with you in any case, no matter who it is. It will decrease your stress levels, make you much less likely to have any problems. You need someone you know with you."

"Yes, sir."

"That's the spirit. And don't forget to call me. Good or bad, I want to know. At our next session, we'll need to make a new schedule."

"Right. Thanks."

"They're just stitches. Remember that. Just stitches, not scalpels."

Tim nodded.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ducky, I know you had the day off. I hope this wasn't any trouble."

"Of course not, my boy. In fact, getting away from my mother for a couple of hours was rather nice. I love the woman, but sometimes..." Ducky grimaced. "Regardless, I am flattered that you would call upon me in your hour of need."

Tim flushed. "My shrink said I should have someone with me. Everyone is working, but..."

"I was not and you did not wish to see the entire squadroom show up to watch the removal of your sutures?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I'm still flattered. Knowing you as I do, I would assume that had you really disliked the idea of my presence, you would have simply gone on your own and risked the displeasure of your therapist."

Tim smiled as they walked into the hospital. "You're right. I would have."

"Well, I am always ready to be distracting, Timothy."

"Good. I think I'll need some distraction."

Ducky patted his shoulder. "You are looking remarkably well, Timothy. Much better than the last time I saw you."

"Thanks." Tim approached the desk. "Hello, I'm Timothy McGee. I have an appointment."

"Of course, Mr. McGee. Just down that hall, room 113."

"Thank you." Tim walked, but his pace slowed significantly.

"Timothy, I do believe you have the pace of a funeral procession."

"Sorry, Ducky. This is why I'm supposed to have someone with me today."

"Well, if you decide that you would like to hear any pointless stories..._un_related to the practice of suturing, I'm your man."

Tim swallowed. "Thanks, Ducky."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, Mr. McGee. That's one leg down. You seem a little tense," the nurse commented.

"I am."

"How did you get these injuries?"

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That's why I'm nervous."

The other nurse looked at him more carefully. "Wait a second. Timothy McGee?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're the NCIS agent who..."

Tim cut her off. "Yes, I am."

"I see. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Let's just get it done."

"Right."

Ducky, realizing that he wasn't fulfilling his responsibility, sat down in front of the bed and attracted Tim's attention.

"Timothy, did you know that–?"

Tim cut him off, but with a smile this time. "I don't know why you ask if I know, Ducky. I never do."

"True. It is rare, but I must start _somehow_."

"All right. Go on." Tim's hand clenched into a fist as the nurses began to remove the sutures from his knee to his hip. As Ducky told a long rambling story about the first time he'd ever broken a bone (falling from a tree at the age of five), Tim forced himself to watch each suture as it was removed from his leg. The nurses would look up at him every once in a while and give him a sympathetic smile. He would try to smile back, but he didn't succeed very often. About an hour later, the nurses finished up removing all the sutures from Tim's legs and arms. They almost missed his chest, but an absent rubbing on Tim's part reminded them and those were taken out in minutes.

"You're done, Agent McGee."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Didn't hurt a bit, did it."

"Nope. You were very gentle."

The nurses chuckled. "You say it, but your face says that we just put you through the ringer."

"That wasn't you. That was my own head. You didn't hurt me."

"All right. If you need a recommendation for a cosmetic surgeon..."

"I won't be needing one," Tim said, shaking his head.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, we'll let you get changed and then we'll sign you out."

"Thanks."

The nurses left and Tim reached for his clothes. Ducky handed him the pile, looking grave.

"Timothy."

"Yes, Ducky?"

"Are you sure you would not prefer to have surgery to get rid of the scars? It would not be complicated."

"No, Ducky. I don't want it."

"Why not?"

Tim took his clothes and pulled the curtain around, closing it in front of Ducky's face. "I don't want it."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A few minutes later, they left the hospital in silence. Tim looked at his watch. "Thanks for coming with me, Ducky. I promised my shrink I'd call and report on how it went."

"Timothy..."

"No, Ducky. Thanks for coming."

"Any time."

"Say hi to your mom for me...even if she won't remember who I am."

"I will. See you next week."

"Right. Bye!" Tim walked away before Ducky could ask again. As he headed for his car, he had to keep himself from looking over his shoulder. It was easy to fall into paranoia, and he was determined not to do so. He went home and pretty much ran to his apartment. His legs twinged a bit, but nothing major. He'd be ready by next week. Jethro was there, excited to see him as always.

"Jethro!" The dog jumped up on him, nearly knocking him over and Tim laughed. "You know, I'm not sure I'll ever get used to calling you that. It was a really bad choice on Abby's part. Maybe _she_ doesn't mind, but I sure feel weird about it. I keep thinking that at some point I'm going to accidentally call Gibbs a good dog...and that would be absolutely humiliating...not to mention dangerous and hazardous to my health...so don't tell him I said that, all right?"

Jethro barked again.

"So...no serial killers in my apartment this afternoon? Good. Then, I can sit down, relax and not worry." Tim walked into his bedroom and sat down. Jethro followed. Tim exhaled and stared at his bare arms. "The stitches are gone, Jethro...but the scars are still there. The scars will always be there. No one understands why I don't want to get rid of them. It's not just that I'm afraid of surgery. That's part of it, but it's not all. Even if I get rid of the scars, I'll still feel them there." He took another deep breath. "I'll always have the scars."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Two weeks later..._

Tim stormed off the elevator, Ziva, Tony and Gibbs close behind.

"For the millionth time, can you _please_ stop following me everywhere I go? How can we get things done if you're checking up on me every five minutes?" Tim stomped to his desk, pulled off his jacket and threw it onto his chair. Then, he turned around and glared at them all. "It was _my_ bad luck to be the one Erikson went after, but he's dead now. There's no reason for you to think that it's going to happen again. Got it?"

"McGee, we're just–" Tony began in a conciliatory tone.

"No! Stop! I know what you're 'just' doing. I appreciated it a month ago when I was still scared of my own shadow, but I'm not like that anymore. I just want to do my job. I just want things to go back to normal. Can't you just treat me that way? I hate being teased and I hate being the butt of every joke, but I hate being patronized and treated like a wayward child even more. Just stop it!" Tim sat down at his desk and began to type. He knew they were all staring at him. It was his first outburst of temper...almost ever, but their continued worry only put him more on edge and that wouldn't help him readjust any faster. He'd let this go on for too long. It was the end of his second week back and he was done...done with the stares, done with the too kind "Are you feeling all right, McGee?", done with the anxiety. He had his own anxiety to worry about and he didn't need to have everyone else's as well.

The silence lasted much too long and Tim looked up. Everyone was working at their own desks, but casting furtive glances his way. Tim felt the frustration build up inside and he stood up quickly. Everyone looked at him openly.

"I'm going down to see how Abby's doing. I don't need you to follow me." Then, he walked away...but he didn't go down to see Abby. He rode the elevator down to her level but he didn't go into the lab. He stayed in the hallway, knowing that she was working hard enough that he could depend on some time alone. Abby was treating him the same way everyone else was, greeting him every morning as if she had expected him to disappear during the night. If that didn't make him edgy, the fact that everyone kept calling him or 'dropping by' all the time would. Their concern was reaching epic proportions of ridiculousness. With a sigh, Tim slid down the wall and sat on the floor. It was rare that he was allowed to be alone at all anymore...and his appreciation for that state of affairs was waning.

Tim sighed again. "Well, at least I'll have something to tell my shrink tonight."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You know, Tim, they're only showing their concern."

"I know. I _know_, but it's getting so...stifling. I didn't handle it very well today. I lost my temper instead of just talking about it, but it is _really_ getting hard. I want things to go back to normal."

"Normal? What do you mean by that, Tim?"

Tim stood up and paced. "Before all this...happened, Tony would tease me almost nonstop, which drove me crazy. I would be allowed to work by myself without someone watching me. I didn't have to face questions about where I was and what I was doing. It doesn't seem to matter to them that Erikson is dead. They still watch me." Tim stopped pacing and spread his hands. "I know what happened can't go away, but...I want to be able to ignore it. I want them to stop treating me like I'm going to break...because..."

"You're afraid you might?"

"How am I supposed to move on if they're not?"

"Have you tried _telling_ them that?"

Tim flushed. "Not this calmly."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe you're right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The next morning, Tim sat on his bed, waiting. He knew it would come eventually...because it had every weekend since he'd come home from the hospital. Tony would come by, pretending that he was just in the neighborhood and see how Tim was doing. Today, Tim was ready and had planned out his day in advance, incorporating Tony's invasion. He had asked Sarah to take Jethro for the day, promising to be back in the evening. Now, he was waiting for Tony to show up. If he was gone when Tony came by, Tony would call to make sure he was okay. Tim had decided to head him off at the pass by being ready to go so that Tony would see him leave and therefore _know_ that Tim was not going to spontaneously combust.

There was a knock at the door and Tim smiled. Right on time. He walked to the door, keys in hand.

"Hey, Tony, just in the neighborhood?" Tim asked.

"Not really," Tony said.

Tim paused, and actually looked at him. "What are you doing here, then?"

"Just checking on you."

Tim sighed. "Tony, you don't _have_ to. Really. It's not necessary."

"You going somewhere?"

Tim sighed again. "Yes. I'm on my way out the door. I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"Sure, right."

Tim walked by him, closing his door behind him. He was halfway down the hall when he looked back. "You want to come?"

"Where are you going?"

"For a drive." Tim didn't really want to mention his destination. This was something he'd been putting off and now he was ready. Tony would only try to talk him out of it. "Just getting out of the city."

"Where to?"

"...Virginia."

Tony might be annoying, but he wasn't stupid. "Why?"

"Homework assignment," Tim said and smiled.

"Homework?"

"Yeah." Tim kept walking, forcing Tony to keep up with him. "You want to come?" He paused. "It might be nice to have the company."

"Can't do it yourself, Probie?"

Tim smiled to himself. "Oh, I could. You seem to need something to do, though...if you're driving all the way up here just to check on me."

Tony laughed uncomfortably.

"You coming?"

"Sure."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The silence had been extremely awkward, but Tim's mind was more on the destination than on the journey to it. As he turned onto the dirt road leading to the barn, he knew Tony was not happy about where they were going. Neither was Tim, truth be told, but he wanted to get on with his life and so he had to confront his past...and he was determined to do just that.

"Here we are," he said with false cheer. "The barn of doom."

"McGee, why are you doing this?"

"Why did you come? You didn't have to," Tim said and got out of the car.

"That's not what I meant, McGee!" Tony said, getting out as well.

"What _did_ you mean, Tony?" Tim asked, walking toward the barn. "This is something I need to do."

"What for?"

At the door of the barn, Tim stopped and turned around. "Don't you get it, Tony? Even though you guys don't seem to realize that I'm moving on, I _am_ moving on. It's been hard. Really hard, and I've been grateful that you all were there, but eventually, we have to go back to normal...or at least as normal as we ever are." Tim turned back to the door.

"McGee, didn't you _see_ what he did to you?"

Tim dropped his head. "No."

"What?"

"I didn't see it, Tony. I never saw. I only heard and felt. I'm not sure which is worse. My nightmares don't have any images in them, except maybe a flash of a scalpel, a brief glimpse of the table. I would hear him moving around, talking about what he did, but I never saw it. I never saw my legs and arms cut open like you did. I never saw the blood like you did. I felt him cutting and I felt him searching for my muscles, tendons. I felt the blood running down my legs and arms. It was terrible." Tim turned back to Tony. "It must have been the same for you to see me that way...and to see me acting so crazy. That must have been hard to deal with, especially when I kept yelling at you." He laughed a little and opened the door.

The barn was empty, quiet. The table was gone, of course, but Tim could still see it there. He walked to the center of the barn.

"It was right here. There was a little table with all his...tools...and then, the big table he built just for me."

"Just for you?"

"He said that he got it as close to my exact measurements as he could. He must have been watching me for awhile, maybe even before he killed Agent Carter. Who knows?" Tim looked around. "He could have had me on tap for months...and I never knew."

"McGee, why are you doing this?"

Tim turned around. "Why are you asking? Tony, why is it that you of all people, the one I can usually depend on to treat me with disdain, why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're afraid for me."

"Because I am, McGee," Tony said. He turned around and walked out of the building.

Tim waited for a few minutes before walking out as well.

"Why, Tony?" Tim shouted when he got out. "Why can't you just let it lie? It's over!"

Tony was leaning against the hood, looking resentful. "Let what lie, McGee? The fact that you were kidnaped, the fact that you were cut open, the fact that you were stuck on that table sobbing with your limbs cut open, begging us to get you off? Which part am I supposed to let lie?"

"All of it! It's all over!"

"Is it for you? Can you tell me honestly that it's over, that you don't mind looking at your scars, that you don't flinch when you see a knife? Can you tell me that McGee?"

"No, I can't! ...but I can't get over it if you aren't either." Tim paced back and forth for a few seconds. "I wake up every morning from a nightmare, Tony. I shower and can barely bring myself to look at my arms and legs. I have to force myself to go outside every day without Jethro around. I have to deal with that...and I am. Slowly, but surely. But then, I go to work and it feels like I should be terrified at every moment because you are...and, Tony, you don't show it when you're scared unless it's really bad. You're showing it now. You are afraid and..." Tim stopped to calm down. "...if _you're _afraid...what chance do _I _have?"

"No, McGee, you can't lay all this on me. Your problems are _not_ my fault."

"I know; so stop laying it on me! I can't do this, Tony. I can't do this if I have to face _your_ fears in addition to my own. This place...it's as horrific to me as any torture chamber you'd see in a horror movie...but look! I'm here! I went in there and even though the table is gone, I still went into the place where I nearly died. I'm getting better. Can't you accept that?"

"I'm glad you're getting better, McGee. That's what we all want."

"Then, treat me as if I am."

"McGee...why aren't you getting the scars removed?"

"What?"

"Ducky told us that you're not going to have the scars removed, that it could be done and you're not doing it. Why not?"

"That's none of your business. It's my decision. I talked it over with my therapist and he agreed with me."

"Then, tell me why."

"Because...because it doesn't matter whether I can see them or not. They'll still be there. So why spend money removing something that I'll still be able to see?"

"Is that it?"

"Yes."

"The money?"

"Yes."

Tony laughed derisively. "And you actually have convinced yourself that _that_ is the reason?"

"You know what? I shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't have asked you to come. This is ridiculous." Tim walked by to the car door. He reached out to open it, but Tony stopped him. "Tony, knock it off."

"McGee, you may be getting better, but you're definitely _not_ better yet."

"Thank you for your diagnosis, Dr. DiNozzo. I've never _said_ that I was completely better. I just said that I'm not as bad as you all seem to _think_ I am...nor am I in as much danger as you seem to fear. I'm okay...so, let me open my door and I'll go home."

"No, McGee. We haven't finished our discussion. You were berating me for being worried about you, and I was trying to figure out why it is that you, a wealthy bachelor, still living in the same podunk apartment, don't want to spend money on something that will make you look less like Frankenstein."

"Frankenstein was the doctor, Tony. It was his monster that had the stitches...and the bolts. You must have seen the movie at least."

"Slip of the tongue." Tony reached out for Tim's jacket. He didn't need it. It was warm enough, but he was wearing it anyway.

"Tony...what in the world are you doing?"

"Making you take off your jacket."

"Why? You think you're going to show me something I haven't already seen? I know what they look like, Tony. So do you."

"Remind me."

Tim rolled his eyes and pulled off his jacket. The two scars were long and thin...and still red. Tony knew that the ones on Tim's legs would look the same. He could easily picture them as open wounds.

"Happy?"

"No, McGee. Tell me. Are _you_ happy having them there? How are you going to live your life if you can't bear to look at yourself? You just going to invest in a whole bunch of sweatpants and long-sleeved t-shirts and never let your arms and legs see the light of day?"

"Tony, I am _not_ going to have them removed. That's the way it is. If that bothers you, stop looking at me."

"Why, McGee? It's certainly your choice, but you should at least know why you've made that decision."

"I do, Tony."

"Then, what is it?"

"Like I said, none of your business."

Tony was actually rather impressed. Tim wasn't having a meltdown. He wasn't losing his control. He was simply angry. That was rare for him, but even so, it was a definite step up.

"Just tell me, McGee."

"No."

"Why not? And don't just say it's none of my business."

Tim walked back toward the barn, not speaking. Tony followed. Tim opened the door and stepped inside. He walked to the center of the barn and lay down on the dusty floor, staring straight up.

"McGee, what–?"

"Sh." Tim shifted to the left slightly and then spread his arms and legs as he had been.

"McGee."

"This is how I was. I don't know how long I was here, but it was a long time...and it felt longer than it was. I counted the beams. There were twelve that I could see. I started trying to count the smaller beams, but I never focused long enough to do it. I would forget the numbers, you see. I'd forget the order the numbers went in. It was weird because we learn numbers when we're so young that you'd think they'd be completely engrained...but I forgot. I couldn't remember if it was four that came after two or if was three instead."

Tony was ready to reverse his thought that Tim wasn't having a meltdown.

"Have you ever had surgery, Tony?"

"Sure."

"Were you awake?"

"Of course not. That's what anesthesia is for."

"Except when it doesn't work...like in that movie that came out last year. I never watched it."

"You mean the one with Hayden Christensen?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"_Awake._ It was okay."

"That's what it was like for me...only worse."

"What?"

"It was like having surgery and being awake. Only in that movie, from what I understand, he couldn't move and no one knew he was awake. He felt it but he couldn't react. I felt it...and I couldn't move, but I could react...and Erikson liked it that way. He wanted to hear me scream. He wanted to feel my muscles tensing. He wanted me to be afraid. He was going to keep cutting me open until he killed me. I would have felt him taking out my internal organs. He said he would keep me alive until he cracked my sternum and took out my heart."

Tony crouched beside Tim as he lay staring at the ceiling. "You know, McGee, when I said that I–"

"That's why, Tony. This right here is why I won't have surgery."

"What?"

"I won't let someone cut me open again."

"I don't think they'd have to, McGee. It's a scar, not facial reconstruction."

"Doesn't matter. I would have to lie down on a table and trust people to do whatever it is they would have to do...and I don't. I can't even sleep on my back anymore. It's not that comfortable a position anyway, but I can't at all. I don't even wake up in that position. I can't let someone cut me open."

Tony was silent for a few seconds, digesting that information. "What if you had to have your appendix removed or something like that?"

"I don't know. Honestly, I don't know. It was all I could do to let the nurses take out my stitches."

"What does your therapist say?"

"Getting the scars removed isn't important for my recovery. If I can learn to live with them, so much the better. He doesn't think that having surgery just to prove I can handle it is a worthwhile use of either my money or the hospital's time."

"But do you _want_ them to go away?"

Tim shrugged from his supine position on the floor. "Doesn't really matter. I told you. They'll be there whether I can see them or not. It's a matter of accepting them for what they are."

"And what are they?"

"Scars, Tony," Tim said and smiled.

Tony rolled his eyes.

"No, really that's important. They're _just_ scars. I can't accept that yet, but I'm working on it."

"Do you have to work on it while lying on the floor?"

"No."

"Then, why don't you get up? You're not chained down this time."

Tim smiled. "I think I can handle that." He sat up and then got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his back. "Tony."

"What?"

"Is me being around so difficult for you? For all of you?"

Tony shrugged.

"I mean it, Tony. I want to be back at work, but if it's not going to work for everyone, then my being there is only going to be a problem...and that will cause problems for the people we're supposed to be helping."

"McGee...we all have to heal."

Tim was earnest. "But...is it? Is it a problem?"

Tony took a deep breath. "McGee, _not_ having you there would be a bigger problem." Then, he walked out of the barn.

They rode back to DC in silence...but there was no need to speak this time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Monday morning..._

"Good morning, Probie. Nice weekend?" Tony asked, leering a little.

"Getting better, Tony," Tim said as he sat down at his desk.

"What?"

"_You're _getting better." Tim grinned and went to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Let's roll," Gibbs announced. "Marine found in Arlington."

Everyone got up and moved to follow. At the cemetery, Tim noticed Gibbs keeping his eye on him, and he felt the same frustration he had vented at Tony, but this time, he tried to keep it in check. Instead, he stood up and crossed the two rows of plots and looked Gibbs in the eye.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"Erikson is dead. Remember?" Tim smiled. "You made me say that. You must have repeated it a million times until I said it myself. Do I have to do the same to you?"

Gibbs' face was expressionless for a few moments, but then, he smiled.

"Get back to work, McGee."

Tim's smile widened to a grin. "Yes, Boss."

As they continued to clear the scene, Tim noticed a few glances his way, but they didn't bother him as much. This would take time...and he would just have to be patient.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One month later..._

Tim bolted off the elevator.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm late! There was this huge traffic jam and..." Tim trailed off as he realized they'd barely looked up...except to smirk or laugh. He looked at them for a moment and then, he started to smile.

"What are you grinning about?" Ziva asked.

Tim couldn't decide if he wanted to actually make his pleasure explicit.

"What _are_ you so happy about, Probie?"

_They don't need the reminder...and neither do I._ Tim walked to his desk, but before he sat down, he looked around the bullpen.

"Thanks, guys."

"For what?" Tony asked.

Tim just grinned and sat down. As he started to work, he missed the glances the others exchanged. They didn't need the reminder. They remembered...

...and it was okay.

FINIS!


End file.
